


A Ghost Story

by life42universe



Series: A Love Story [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2020-02-10 15:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 32,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18662755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/life42universe/pseuds/life42universe
Summary: All Kurt's life, he's been searching for proof that a person continues existing after death. Then, he meets a mysterious boy in a cemetery. Who is Blaine? What happened to him? How did he become so important to Kurt so quickly?This is a story about love and timing and the kind of connection that comes around once in a lifetime.Prepare yourself for all of the angst with a light at the end of the tunnel (metaphorically speaking).





	1. Saying Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work, so don't mind if the tagging seems a bit bare. I'll work on it. Feel free to let me know what you think!
> 
> At some point, there will be descriptions of violence toward a main character, but that chapter will have a warning in the header, and a TL/didn't want the trigger description at the bottom that doesn't go into any detail, but lets you finish the story.
> 
> Overall TWs for depictions of trauma after the fact, dealing with grief from losing a parent, and general homophobia.
> 
> Only one applicable to this chapter is grief over a parent.

Almost all his life, Kurt Hummel had been searching for a ghost. Not any ghost, of course. He wanted a very specific one. 

When he’d turned twelve and his father had decided he was old enough to go to the library by himself, he’d felt equal parts hopeful and silly as he’d checked out his first book. ‘A Guide to Modern Ghost Communication’. It had read like an instruction manual, if that instruction manual had been written by a new age hippie obsessed with crystals. After the millionth time Kurt had tried to clear his mind and align his intentions, he had decided the book wasn’t going to do it for him. The next twenty books on the subject had been equally unhelpful. 

He’d felt absolutely ridiculous when he’d snuck away after his fourteenth birthday to make a phonecall to a psychic hotline. He’d paid $1.99 a minute to hear a woman on the phone tell him that she was communicating with someone on his behalf. Not one to be easily convinced, he put her through a series of questions. When she’d answered the third (and by far most simple) of his tests incorrectly, he’d hung up. He’d figured they were all a sham, but he’d had to try. 

By far the most incomprehensible thing he’d done was a month after his sixteenth birthday. He’d just received his brand new Lincoln Navigator. It was a thing of beauty, and he’d barely driven it fifteen miles, only taking it to and from school, treating it with the care and attention it deserved. Then he’d heard it. An announcement on the radio. Some famous medium was coming to Columbus. He couldn’t chance it. What if this was it? What if this was his chance? Lying to his father about being at a girls’ night and selling one of his favorite designer pieces for a ticket to the conference center, he’d climbed into his car, driven the hour and a half to Columbus, and sat in the back of the lecture hall. He strained in his seat to be chosen by the medium. Miracle of miracles, it happened. For a moment, he really thought it was going to happen. He was going to speak to his mother again. She would have the answers. She’d always known just what to say. He was finally, finally going to get to say all the things he wished he had. He couldn’t have hidden the look of disappointment if he’d tried when the medium said an older, male spirit was trying to contact him. The tongue lashing from his father when he returned home was nothing compared to the bitterness he felt. Kurt finally had to accept that he was truly alone.

Now, he was eighteen years old. He’d moved on from believing in such childish things. There wasn’t any afterlife. There wasn’t a god, angels didn’t exist, and there was absolutely no such thing as ghosts. They were fairy tales for children meant to comfort them when they lost someone. The world would never be kind enough to let him really have something like that. Besides, at the end of the summer, he’d be moving to New York, fighting for his dream. He couldn’t hold onto the hope that she would magically come back into his life. He stood in front of the cold, marble tombstone, taking slow, even breaths. Elizabeth Anne Hummel. His fingertips traced over the words slowly, like if he just concentrated hard enough, she’d materialize out of the letters. He took another deep breath and made himself stop. He was saying goodbye. He briefly entertained the idea of saying something out loud, but nothing seemed to fit. He’d spoken to this stone a thousand times. It never changed anything. He bent down and carefully laid a bouquet of lilies at the head of the stone. They would have made her smile, once. He touched the tombstone one more time before turning, wiping at his eyes. He jumped when he spotted movement.

For a moment, he was convinced he’d imagined it. If he hadn’t turned around right then, he would have missed it completely. A young man, probably around his own age, maybe a little younger, dressed in a black peacoat over what appeared to be black dress pants. Kurt hadn’t seen his face, just a head full of hair gelled back in some ridiculously preppy style. He was walking away, toward the trees at the edge of the cemetery, where the plots were thinner. There were mostly new graves out there, and he wondered who he’d lost, how recently. Maybe he was out here to say goodbye to someone, too. He nearly walked that direction, but he knew better to interrupt someone who was mourning. Besides, Kurt had done what he’d come here to do. It was time to go.

He hadn’t expected to run into the boy again. He’d been walking the opposite direction when Kurt had headed back to his car. He must have doubled back. Maybe he was late for something, because he would have had to walk fairly quickly to beat Kurt to the parking lot. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he walked around a tree and the boy was suddenly there. “Oh.” He blinked, staring at the boy for a long time. “I, um, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. I mean, I did. See you. Earlier. But I thought it would be rude to interrupt your…,” he shook his head, calming himself with a breath. “Sorry. Let’s try that again. I’m Kurt Hummel. I’m sorry I nearly ran into you.”

The boy looked up at him with the most beautiful hazel eyes he’d ever seen. He’d clearly been crying, and he looked utterly lost. Still, he was polite, though he didn’t reach out his hand for a handshake. “My name is Blaine.”


	2. The Lima Bean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TW's for this chapter, just our boys getting to know each other a bit. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone for reading this, it's been great to read comments and see that people are invested!

The silence between them was almost uncomfortably long. Kurt cleared his throat after a moment, but the young man seemed so lost that he couldn’t just make his excuses and leave. “Are you okay?” It was an incredibly stupid question. No one hung out in a cemetery when they were doing fine and dandy. He just hadn’t been able to think of anything else to say. He couldn’t leave someone like this. And now that he was a bit closer, the boy- no, Blaine- looked a little rough around the edges. His hair was starting to escape from its gel and curl around his temples, his peacoat looked like it had seen better days. He was wearing a white shirt underneath, some of the buttons undone, and his dress shoes were badly scuffed. “Can I help?”

Blaine seemed to snap back into focus at the question, and he shook his head. “I- Yes, I’m fine.” He forced a smile, and it nearly broke Kurt’s heart. “I’m sorry, this is all just a little overwhelming. I didn’t mean to come here, but I had to see for myself. I couldn’t really believe it.” 

Kurt couldn’t help but pity him. Here he was, in the middle of a cemetery, clearly overwhelmed. “No one’s fine when they come out here,” he said softly. “I’m not. I was… I was visiting my mother. She’s been gone a long time, but I like to come out here still, sometimes.” It was an old habit. He knew that she couldn’t hear him, see him, but he had to go through the motions. “Look, you- No offense, but you look kind of terrible. Come to coffee with me?” The offer was on the table before he could really think about it. He didn’t know this guy; he didn’t know a thing about him. Sure, he looked like a kicked puppy, but he could be a serial killer for all Kurt knew. “I mean, not with me. Now. I mean, just,” he sighed out a breath, nearly kicking himself. Blaine looked utterly confused, and Kurt could hardly blame him. “I’m at the Lima Bean a lot. For coffee. If you ever want to meet me there or something, I could give you my number?”

Blaine seemed to become a little more settled in his skin as he listened to Kurt ramble. Luckily, he didn’t seem to be too offended. More amused than anything. “I, ah, I don’t actually have my phone with me,” he said softly. “But I would love to meet you there sometime. It would be really nice to have someone to talk to. It’s been a while since I’ve had that.” He seemed to straighten his shoulders and stand a bit taller. He was still shorter than Kurt, but not by too much. When he looked at Kurt again, there was a very slight smile on his lips. “If you’re heading there now, how about I meet you? And I’ll understand if you think better of it on the way. I mean, the cemetery isn’t exactly somewhere to meet friends.”

Kurt smiled, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to suggest driving separately. “That would be perfect,” he said with a nod. “And who am I to judge where a friendship starts? Who would say no to a friend just because they were lost in a cemetery?” He rolled his eyes at himself. “Alright, phrased like that, I see what you mean.”

The boy just grinned at him, shaking his head. “Thank you, Kurt. You’ve certainly made this trip into something special. I’ll… I’ll meet you at the coffee shop.”

Kurt grinned a little wider and nodded, mumbling a quiet, “See you,” as he walked away. Cemetery boy might be a little strange, but he was charming. And attractive. And really, starting a friendship near a bunch of dead people wasn’t all that strange. Was it? 

He was halfway to the Lima Bean when he realized he hadn’t seen another car in the lot. Blaine hadn’t had his phone with him (or at least, he’d said he hadn’t), so how was he even going to get back into Lima? Maybe he had a ride that was coming back to pick him up? Maybe there was another parking lot somewhere? Kurt shook his head. Not inviting him into his car had been the right move. He didn’t know anything about this guy, he couldn’t just be inviting him into his personal space. He shook it off, resigning himself to an afternoon of waiting. 

To his surprise, as soon as he walked into the Lima Bean, he spotted Blaine sitting at a table in front of a half-eaten pastry and a cup of coffee. He frowned, trying to work out how he’d managed to beat him to the café as he stepped up to the counter. He ordered his non-fat mocha and waited for it, looking Blaine over again. The peacoat had been a bit of a surprise outside. It was May, but they’d had a bit of a chill roll through the night before. It made some sense. But now they were indoors, and Blaine still hadn’t removed it. He sat in front of his coffee but didn’t seem to ever reach for it. Kurt shook his head. He’d been there. Grief could do interesting things to a person. He grabbed his coffee from the barista and headed over, sitting down across from Blaine. “Hello again.”

“Hi,” Blaine said, smiling at him slightly. He looked a bit less lost than he had before, a bit more put together. Kurt might have thought he’d cleaned up since he’d seen him last, but there was no way he had had time. 

Kurt cleared his throat and nodded to his half empty coffee. “I’m impressed. You somehow managed to beat me here, get your coffee, and finish half of it before I even walked in. You must’ve been thirsty. And hungry.”

Blaine shot him an almost quizzical look before looking down and seeming to realize what Kurt was referring to. “Oh. Um, yeah. I… I decided to try something new. I’m typically more of a drip coffee sort of guy.” He gestured to the frothy, pale drink in his cup. “With cinnamon, if anything. Not… whatever I managed to order.” He shot Kurt what was clearly meant to be a disarming smile. “Thank you for inviting me here. I haven’t ever made it to this particular coffee shop.”

Kurt nodded, blowing on his coffee to help cool it down before setting it on the table. “Oh, you must go to the Starbucks by the mall. Or are you not from Lima?”

Blaine shook his head. “Westerville, actually.” 

“Westerville. Right. And you’re about my age, so which do you go to? Westerville High or the prep school with the uniforms?”

Blaine dropped his eyes, playing with his hands underneath the table. “Westerville High. I did, anyway. I-… Well, it’s summer, right?”

Kurt nodded, a little surprised by how much of an effect the question had seemed to have. He steered the conversation to lighter topics. It turned out, mystery boy was as much a fan of Vogue as Kurt. Well, almost as much. He could be forgiven for not being quite as interested. Few people were. Blaine’s enthusiasm for music lit him up. Soon enough, they were chatting animatedly, Kurt throwing his head back to laugh or gesturing with his hands as he tore apart one of his best friend’s more heinous outfits. 

The only small fly in the ointment was the woman at the next table who kept staring at them like they were insane. Well, that wasn’t fair. She was staring at Kurt. He wore flamboyant outfits; he spoke loudly about fashion and musicals. He may as well have ‘GAY’ tattooed across his forehead. He was used to being looked at. Even if it was a bit frustrating that she seemed to be watching him like he was a particularly dangerous type of crazy person. Eventually, she left. They were alone in their corner, and Kurt was lost in how easy it was to talk to Blaine, how much they had in common. He glanced up at the wall and made a face. It had been nearly three hours. “It’s late. My dad will worry if I don’t make it home soon.” He hesitated. “Can I- Would it be too much to give you my number?”

Blaine’s smile was bright and easy at that, and he shook his head. “I don’t- I don’t really have a phone right now. But I’ll be around here. The coffee was good, and the company was even better. I’m sure I’ll see you again.”

Kurt smiled at that and nodded, though he felt his stomach drop. He’d thought the day had gone fairly well. There was so much still to learn about his mystery friend from the cemetery. Still, seeing him again was something, even if he couldn’t get in touch with him until then. “I guess that’ll just have to do.” He looked at Blaine one last time before shaking his head and standing. “Thanks for meeting me here.” He hesitated, nearly saying something else, and then turned to walk away. He heard Blaine say a quiet goodbye as he walked through the door. 

When he turned around to look one last time, Blaine had vanished. The coffee and pastry stood exactly as they were when Kurt had walked into the shop, untouched. The chair hadn’t even moved. It was as if Blaine had never been there at all.


	3. New York Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who's being so sweet and involved and commenting on these chapters. I love reading your comments and guesses about where everything's going!
> 
> No triggers on this chapter, so throw caution to the wind!

It was nearly a week before Kurt saw Blaine again. He kept looking for him when he walked into the coffee shop, but he was never there. Every time, it was a little disappointment in his day. Still, Westerville was far away, and it made sense that Blaine probably had things to do other than sitting around coffee shops or standing in cemeteries. After all, Kurt was working on designing outfits for school, scouring thrift shops for gently used designer pieces he could make work, arguing with Rachel over their apartment in New York. It wasn’t like he spent all day every day in the Lima Bean. Though today, that was exactly the plan. Not because of Blaine. Of course not. He just needed the coffee to help him focus. 

He was sketching in his notebook, working on a dark blue jacket that would look absolutely perfect against dark hair and olive skin when he heard someone clear his throat. He looked up and couldn’t help his grin at the sight of Blaine.

“Mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all.”

He looked Blaine over, frowning very slightly when he noticed he was dressed the same way he had been before. Kurt glanced out the window. It was sunny out. A gorgeous day, really. The humidity was just starting to climb, and the temperatures were the high seventies, at least. Blaine must be miserable in a coat and whatever he was wearing underneath. He wondered if Blaine had some sort of job that required a hideous uniform or something. Kurt was always dressed fashionably; they’d spoken at length about their mutual Vogue obsession. Maybe he was just embarrassed. “Aren’t you a little warm in all of that?”

Blaine looked down at himself and shrugged. “Not really.” He tugged at his coat to make sure it was lying flat, covering up a bit more of the white shirt underneath as he did. He looked up at Kurt with a grin as he sat down. “Feel free to mock me forever for my lack of fashion sense. I promise it made sense when I got dressed.”

Kurt just hummed, shaking his head. “I don’t know. A peacoat in the summer? You’re starting to look a little crazy. I don’t know if I can be associated with a crazy person.”

They were sitting in the back corner booth today, and there wasn’t anyone nearby. At least they wouldn’t have to deal with death glares for having the audacity to be two young men drinking coffee together. He didn’t even know if Blaine was gay. He hoped Blaine was gay. He bit his lip at that thought, trying to shake it off. 

“Well, I promise to act as normal as possible, even if I am wearing insane outerwear,” Blaine said with a teasing grin. He glanced at Kurt’s sketchbook, looking over the blazer. “Kurt, that’s absolutely gorgeous. You told me you were interested in fashion; you didn’t tell me you design.”

Kurt shrugged, his cheeks flushing slightly as he pushed his notebook over toward Blaine. He was ever the perfect gentleman, not even touching it to turn a page. “I dabble. Things are rough when your designer clothing budget wouldn’t buy you a pair of Armani socks. I do a lot of thrifting, a lot of tweaking vintage clothes, and a lot of making things of my own.”

Blaine grinned from ear to ear. “You may just be the most insanely talented guy I know. Are you going to study this in school?”

Kurt shifted a bit in his seat, playing with the rough edge of the corner of his sketchbook. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve applied for this internship in New York, but I’m pretty sure I won’t get it. Vogue.com isn’t going to hire some no one from Ohio, you know? I sent in my portfolio, but it’s mostly just things I’ve worn to school, it’s really not that impressive. Besides, I’m trying to go to school for performing. I’m sort of torn between two passions. Maybe the universe will tell me which one I’m meant to be in by which place I get in. Or maybe I’ll end up as a barista and none of it will matter.” When he glanced up, the expression on Blaine’s face surprised him, a sort of deep longing that Kurt didn’t understand. He looked upset. More than that, he looked jealous. “What about you? What are you planning on doing after the summer?”

Blaine was quiet for a long moment before he smiled again. Kurt was starting to know Blaine’s smiles. This one was new. Forced, a little uncomfortable around the edges. “Oh, I have a feeling I’ll be staying around here. I… New York was the dream, but I don’t think I’ll ever get there, now. I was going to major in music. Performance, education, composition, I hadn’t really decided between them. I love arranging songs for different instruments. I’ve even been working on some a cappella versions of some of my favorites. But it- I’ll probably be here for a while longer.”

Kurt’s face fell. He wanted to reach out across the table and take Blaine’s hand. Even that impulse was a little odd. Kurt didn’t touch other people, as a rule. He’d learned a long time ago that even his friends tended to think the gay might be contagious. But Blaine wasn’t like that. He didn’t think Blaine was like that. Still, he kept his hands to himself. “Why can’t you go? If it’s a money issue, I’m right there with you. But there are grants, scholarships. You could live with roommates and eat nothing but ramen.” He made a face. “Alright, I’ll never be caught dead near microwaveable ramen, but we’ve already discussed that you can eat an entire box of donuts in one sitting, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

For some reason, the phrasing seemed to make Blaine flinch. He adjusted his peacoat again. For a second, Kurt saw that same young man he’d seen at the cemetery, lost, wandering and alone. “It just isn’t going to happen,” he said softly. “Not for me. Not right now. I’m not even- I mean, I’m not going to graduate this year. So even if I wanted to, I couldn’t.”

Kurt’s frown deepened. “You’re not graduating? But I thought- I mean, I assumed that you were about my age. You should be graduating.” He winced at his own phrasing. “Not that you couldn’t be taking an extra year, or I guess you could be a junior instead of a senior. I just assumed… Blaine? Are you alright?”

Blaine was breathing a bit too hard, his eyes locked firmly on the table, fingers twisted in his jacket. He’d pulled it a little more open, this time, and Kurt could see that the buttons he’d thought were undone were actually missing. It looked like they’d been ripped off. He watched Blaine try to get control of himself, not sure how to help. He’d never seen someone so obviously upset trying so hard not to be. Blaine tugged at his jacket again, touching a place on his side, and then seemed to jerk himself back from wherever he’d been.

“I- Kurt, I’m so sorry, but I don’t think- I can’t- I have to go.” And then he was up, stumbling away from the table. Kurt didn’t know how he hadn’t managed to upend the chair with how quickly he’d stood. He did the same, almost reaching out to help, but he didn’t think the touch would be welcome. Then Blaine was gone, disappearing around the partition that separated the seating area from the front door. Kurt sat down hard in his seat, running a hand over his face. How had that gone so spectacularly badly? What had he said? He played the conversation over and over in his head, wanting to find whatever he’d said that had been so obviously wrong. He was fairly certain Blaine had only been a few rough moments away from a panic attack. 

His conscience won out. He couldn’t just let his friend panic. He stood again, rushing toward the front door, the bell going off as he stared at the parking lot. Wrestling with the decision hadn’t taken him long. Thirty seconds, maybe. He’d been expecting to find Blaine outside, or maybe sitting in his car. At worst, he expected to see him driving out of the parking lot. But he was just gone. Kurt sighed, leaning heavily against the front of the building. Whatever he’d done, he was never going to do it again. He’d find Blaine, apologize, and they’d get back to normal. Their normal, anyway.


	4. An Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's following this! It completely makes my day to read all of the comments and see that people are enjoying the story so far. I am so, so grateful for all of y'all.
> 
> Bit of a shorter chapter this time, but the next one's a bit of a change in scenery, so it made sense to break it there. Nothing triggery in this chapter, so enjoy!

Kurt was at the coffee shop for the next two days straight. He missed a shift at his dad’s garage, claiming that he wasn’t feeling well, he blew Mercedes off for a girls’ day pedicure. He spent every moment of those two days sitting in the Lima Bean, in the back corner booth, waiting for Blaine to come back so he could apologize. He still had no idea what he’d done wrong, but it didn’t matter now. He wasn’t losing Blaine over something so small. He’d never met a guy like Blaine. Conversation between them was easy, comfortable. Kurt finally felt like he could relax when he was with him. He could just be who he was, no walls necessary. He trusted Blaine. He wasn’t giving that up because of one awkward conversation. 

It was almost too late for another cup of coffee when Blaine showed up again. Kurt looked up and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Blaine standing by the table. He hadn’t even heard him walk up. Blaine looked different again. Sad. Lost. Kurt had to fight the overwhelming urge to get up and hug him. Instead, he gestured to the seat across from him. “Want to join me?”

Blaine nodded, sitting down across from Kurt, hands in his lap. He fidgeted with his fingers beneath the table, seeming to gather himself. There was an awkward silence as they both seemed to consider what they were meant to do next.

“I’m sorry.” They both looked up, surprised the other had spoken at the same time.

“Kurt, you don’t have to-“

“Blaine, I just wanted to-“

Blaine laughed, and the sound made some of the tension leave Kurt’s shoulders. “Mind if I go first?” Blaine asked softly. At Kurt’s nod, he took a deep breath.

“I apologize for leaving so suddenly the other day. I want you to know that you didn’t do anything wrong. My… Well, my situation is a little bit complicated. I can’t leave Ohio. Hell, I hadn’t even left home in ages before the day I ended up meeting you at the cemetery.” He looked up at Kurt, his dark eyes stormier than he’d ever seen them. Kurt was a little worried that he was going to start crying in the middle of the café. “I can’t go anywhere. New York was a dream of mine before…” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I guess I’m a little sensitive about it. And hearing about your life, the amazing things that are in front of you, it just made me acutely aware of what all I’ve lost.” His hands moved like he wanted to reach out and touch Kurt, but he forced them back into his lap. “None of that is your fault. I’m so incredibly happy for you. I want to know all of your plans; I want to cheer you on. You’re my friend, and I never should have just walked away from you like that. I guess I just realized that you’re really leaving, at the end of the summer. You’re-… You’re really important to me, Kurt. Realizing I’ve lost New York and that I’m going to lose you, too was just a lot, all at once. Still, that’s no excuse. I’m so sorry, Kurt.”

Kurt watched Blaine’s apology with a lump in his throat, though it brought up more questions than answers. Why wouldn’t he be able to leave Ohio? Blaine’s clothes were nice, far more expensive than his own, but they were a bit worn around the edges. Maybe his family had lost some money? Maybe he’d gotten his acceptance letters back and he hadn’t managed to get in to his dream schools? If he thought of it that way, everything made a lot more sense. The repeated outfits, the loss of Blaine’s future, his reluctance to talk about it. He wanted to press. The curiosity was killing him. So much of what Blaine did and said didn’t seem to make any sense. He never bought a coffee, at least not in front of Kurt, though when Kurt had arrived after him, he’d seen coffee on the table. He was always wearing the same white dress shirt and black dress pants, the peacoat over top. The questions sat right behind Kurt’s lips. It’d be so easy to just ask. It just wasn’t the right time. Blaine was starting to trust him. He didn’t want to push too hard and send them backwards. He never wanted to watch Blaine panic like he had the other day again.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Kurt said quietly, meeting Blaine’s eyes, laying his hand out on the table in case he wanted to take it. “I know how hard it can be when it seems like you’ve lost your future. You don’t have to talk to me, but I hope you know that you can. You don’t have to give up on your dreams just because things are hard right now. I’ll try to keep New York talk to a minimum.” He smiled, trying to catch Blaine’s eye. “Though you may have to restrain me from throttling Rachel if she talks about painting our living room Pepto Bismol pink again.”

Blaine smiled a watery smile, looking at Kurt’s hand longingly. He didn’t take it. “I promise to be there for you when you start searching for murder weapons.” He took a deep breath and let it out, slumping back in his chair a little. “Have I mentioned how lucky I am that you wandered into the cemetery that day?”

Kurt was quiet for a moment, but his curiosity finally got the better of him. “Can I ask why you were there? I know it’s not any of my business, but I’ve been dying to know. After all, whoever’s there, I owe them for our friendship. I was thinking I could take flowers.”

Blaine took a deep breath and looked at Kurt, really looked at him. Something in his eyes seemed to change, a decision made. He glanced at the clock, and some of the intensity left his face. “Sorry, Kurt. That’s a story for another time. I should go, anyway. They’ll be closing soon. But I’ll be back as soon as I can. I’ll find you.” He stood, straightening his coat. “If you want me here, I’ll always find you.”

Kurt was a little surprised at the quick dismissal. It seemed like Blaine had only just arrived. But he was right, the waiters were starting to stack chairs on the tables. He nodded. “I’ll always want you here, silly,” he said softly, his cheeks flushing at all that the comment could imply, if Blaine wanted to take it that way. He cleared his throat and sat a little straighter in his chair. “I’ll see you soon, Blaine.”

He watched Blaine walk away, feeling more settled than he had in days. They were alright. That was what really mattered. And sometime soon, he was going to get answers out of his new friend.


	5. A Rachel Berry Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to everyone who's following this! It's super exciting to see everyone commenting and enjoying the story. I thought we'd dig a little more into Kurt's world before we go off into Blaine's, so here we have it. A bit of a glimpse into his life getting ready for New York. Enjoy!

Kurt returned to normal life, though Blaine was always on his mind. He didn’t see him at the coffee shop for the next few days, but that was alright. He knew they were okay. Besides, today was the day. **The** day. He and Rachel had to make a choice on an apartment, a move in date. He picked up coffees for them both before heading over to Rachel’s, rolling his eyes as she accosted him with yet another option before he’d even made it through the door.

“For the last time, Rachel, we are not living in an artist commune in Brooklyn. I am not living with a bunch of unwashed ‘artists’ who have advertised an actual chanting circle as part of the listing!” He set down his bag and pushed Rachel’s coffee in her direction, taking the lid off of his own to let it start cooling as he headed for the sofa.

Rachel pouted out her bottom lip at him, taking her vegan coffee and pressing a hot pink binder covered in gold stars into his hand. “But the rent is so cheap! And we will be artists. Why not find our people? We’d have a built in community, we’d have a bunch of people to share the cost of cleaning supplies with-“

“And we’d be sleeping four to a room and having to deal with whatever the hell a communal shower is. The best-case scenario there will remind me of middle school gym class. The answer is no, Berry. Absolutely not.”

Rachel pouted, flopping onto the sofa as Kurt sat down beside her. “Well it’s not like you’ve been any help lately. You’ve been sitting in a coffee shop waiting for Mystery Boy to show up for hours on end. I’ve been having to do all the research on my own. You know how much I wanted that loft, and we lost it because you couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone while chatting with your new boyfriend.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Kurt snapped, trying to hide the way he was blushing by being a bit bitchy. Rachel’s expression let him know he was laying it on a bit thick. “I’m sorry.” He sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I shouldn’t be so snippy. And I’m sorry that we lost the loft that we never could have afforded in a million years, anyway. But he’s not my boyfriend. And I told you, we had a sort of friend emergency. I had to make sure I saw him again. It’s not like I can just text him.”

Rachel raised an eyebrow, grinning at him with a knowing expression. “You, Kurt Hummel, are one hundred percent in love with your mystery boy. I had suspected, but you only snipe at me like that when you’ve got a crush. I remember the great Finn Hudson incident even if you don’t. Though I still think he might be a drug dealer or something. Who doesn’t have a cell phone?”

Kurt groaned, shaking his head. “We are not talking about the time I tried to Sandy-fy you, okay? Nope. Not happening. Ancient history. He’s my brother now, it’s just weird. And any self-respecting drug dealer would have to have a cell phone. How else would they know where to meet their client people?”

Rachel laughed at him, settling back on the sofa and looking at him expectantly. “Okay, so is Mystery Boy at least gay? All I know is that he’s apparently the dreamiest thing that ever walked and you literally studied the last copy of Vogue before going to see him.”

“Which he hadn’t even read,” Kurt sighed dramatically. He shrugged his shoulders, his expression becoming a little more serious. “I don’t know,” he admitted softly. “We haven’t really talked about it. I mean, most people know, when it comes to me. And I get… vibes. Like he’ll look at me this certain way, or he’ll laugh, and his eyes will just… But then again, he’s never touched me. Not even a friendly pat on the shoulder. And he could totally be straight. It’s possible. Some guys are just really comfortable with their sexuality and forward-thinking enough to realize my being gay doesn’t affect them at all. Though when combined with a love of musicals and a general love of fashion, it muddies the waters.” He made a face. “I just wish I could figure out why his fashionable nature doesn’t translate to his clothes. Even you would make fun of his getup.”

Rachel snorted. “Come on, his clothes just don’t meet your standards. That’s a high bar, even for the most fabulous of gay men. You realize the answer is to have me meet him, right? I have the best gaydar in all of Ohio. I have two gay dads, Kurt! That makes me an expert.”

Kurt shook his head. “Absolutely not, Rachel,” he said immediately. “I love you, but you’re an acquired taste, and I’m not scaring Blaine off because you can’t keep your hands off him for ten minutes. He’s dreamy, he’s short, and he sings. I’m sure he’s amazing at it, too. Not that I’ve heard him.”

Rachel frowned. “What do you mean, an acquired taste? I am an exceptionally easy to get along with person, Kurt. You should know. We’re best friends. I won you over with my charm when you hated me for stealing your crush away. If I can do that, I can do anything.”

“No,” Kurt said again, more firmly. “Just… no. Not right now. We’re still getting to know each other.”

“Well, have you at least cyber stalked him yet?” She raised an eyebrow at his expression. “Oh, come on, Kurt, you know he’s probably gone on Facebook and figured out exactly who you are. It’s basic crush protocol. Have you looked him up? Have you even tried?” She shot him a knowing grin. “It could solve your little dilemma of knowing if he’s gay, you know. Might be right there on his profile. All you have to do is look it up.”

Kurt frowned and shook his head. “No, I didn’t- I mean, I thought about it, but isn’t that creepy?” He should really not be asking Rachel that question. He watched her eyes go wide with excitement and regretted pretty much every life choice he’d made that had led him to this sofa. “Rachel, no. We’re not- We are so not doing this.”

But Rachel was already grabbing her laptop and pulling up Facebook. “What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know, Rachel, and if I did, I wouldn’t tell you. Stop being a crazy stalker person!”

Rachel just rolled her eyes and typed ‘Blaine’ into the search bar. She frowned as profile after profile popped up. “Okay,” she said after a moment, “this is going to take some time. But don’t worry, I can find him.”

Kurt snatched her laptop away and closed Facebook, shaking his head. “Rachel Berry, if you spend one more minute trying to cyberstalk my possible future boyfriend, I will burn every single one of your cat sweaters before we even get to New York!” 

“Ha! I knew it! Future possible boyfriend! Kurt Hummel’s in love!”

Kurt swatted her thigh lightly with the laptop and pulled up one of the listings they’d been looking at, handing her the binder so she could flip through the paper copies. “Now, let’s get to business, because you and I have a lot of discussions to have about our future living arrangements if we’re going to stay friends. Keep going down this rabbit hole, and I’ll convince Blaine to move to New York just so you and I aren’t living together!”

Rachel pouted at him in a way that he knew was mostly fake, and they set to narrowing down their list of options. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

He would never admit it to Rachel, but that night, while he was alone in his room, he tried again. Searching for ‘Blaine’ gave far too many possible results, so he tried Blaine and Westerville together. He found him. Blaine A. His mystery man was paranoid about his last name, apparently. His profile picture was a much younger Blaine grinning up at the camera. He couldn’t have been older than fourteen, maybe fifteen. His hair was gelled back to his head and he sat wearing a bright red polo, dark jeans, and a black and white checkered bowtie. His eyes were sparkling as he sat on a curb, holding a guitar. He looked gorgeous. More than that, though, he looked settled. Happy. Kurt stared at the image for a long moment. It felt like an invasion of privacy to be doing this without at least telling Blaine. Still, in this age, it was sort of a given, wasn’t it? Before he could change his mind, he clicked, biting his lip as his ancient laptop tried to load the page.

Private. Everything was private. Either that, or the entire page was blank. Kurt couldn’t quite sort out whether he felt relieved or annoyed. Blaine A. Westerville High. That was all of the information he could get to. He sat there for a long time, staring at his laptop, at the boy who looked so much more carefree than the young man he was slowly getting to know. What had happened to him?


	6. Confessions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! Double post at the start of this week because I'm out of town and I'm not sure how much time I'm going to have to work on this. I'm hoping I can get another chapter out at the end of the week, but just in case, you get a twofer! I hope you're ready!

“I Facebook stalked you.” The words were out of his mouth before he’d even sat down. He’d spotted Blaine right away this time, sitting in their usual booth in front of a cup of coffee he didn’t seem to be touching. “I’m so sorry, I feel incredibly weird, because who even does that? But my best friend Rachel said it’s standard cr- um, standard protocol and that you’d probably done it to me by now, and I was seduced by the possibility of knowing a little bit more about you and I mean, really, I knew it was a stupid invasion of your personal life and I shouldn’t have done it, but it was so, so, so tempting, Blaine, you have no-“

Blaine’s laughter cut him off. Kurt immediately crossed his arms over his chest, huffing out a breath, trying to look deeply offended. “I am sitting here trying to apologize for a massive invasion of privacy, and you’re laughing at me. You, Blaine, are a horrible human being.”

“Well, I’m not the one who went Facebook crazy, am I? Am I really the horrible human being out of the two of us?” Blaine’s eyes were sparkling when he looked at him, and Kurt almost recognized the boy from the photo. Blaine shook his head. “I don’t mind. It’s actually… I mean, it’s sort of a relief. You are beyond adorable when you’re rambling your way through an apology, by the way. I haven’t had the chance to look for you, so all of your secrets are safe. But what did you find out about me?” His expression was earnest, almost eager, not at all the reaction Kurt had been expecting.

Kurt frowned a little, biting his lip. “Almost nothing,” he admitted softly. “I mean, you have some really tight security settings. It gave me your name. And a last initial. And I found you by where you go to school, so I guess that information’s in there. But when I clicked, I couldn’t see a thing. Just your profile picture. Love the bowtie, by the way.” He eyed Blaine’s outfit. “I assume that was before you decided to hide all of your fashion sense away under a seasonally inappropriate coat.”

Blaine’s expression fell a little, and Kurt had to work to hide his surprise. Blaine had wanted him to find more. Why on earth would Blaine have wanted him to invade his privacy further? Blaine nodded. “I… I don’t get on Facebook, much. I guess I forgot that I had one at all, much less that it was set up to be so private.” 

Kurt looked at him for a long moment. “You could tell me, you know. Break down some of the mystery that is Blaine A. There’s so little that you’ve told me about yourself. I just… I swear I’m not trying to be some creepy stalker. I don’t know anything. You know about my dad’s tire shop; you know about my stepbrother. You know about my crazy, Facebook-enabling friend. All I know about you is that you always look sad when I find you sitting here, and you hang out in a cemetery more than normal people. That’s not a lot to go on. Hell, I don’t even know if you’re gay or straight.”

Blaine sighed quietly, running a hand over his face, though the last question made him smile a little. “You really- You can’t tell?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, that must have come off rude. It’s not polite to just assume. You’re being a perfect gentleman.” He bit his lip, seeming to steel himself for the admission. His eyes moved around the room, though no one was paying them any attention at all. They were becoming something of a regular fixture, and the regulars ignored them, other than the occasional glare in Kurt’s direction. “Yes, Kurt, I’m gay.” His voice was very quiet when he spoke, and he seemed to be bracing himself for something bad to happen.

Kurt smiled very gently at him. “I am, too,” he said quietly. “And it’s okay. I… I get that coming out is hard. I guess I never pictured you having any difficulty with it. You’re so open about your interests and everything. Not many guys who are uncomfortable with their sexuality are so expressive about Vogue and Wicked. I’m sorry if my question took you by surprise.”

Blaine sighed, shaking his head. “I’m not uncomfortable with it. I mean, I sort of thought you’d just figured it out. Most people do. Did.” He sighed, scratching at the back of his neck in what Kurt was quickly realizing was a nervous tic. “I’ve come out before. To my family, to the entire school, at one point. The reaction… Well, the reaction wasn’t great.”

Kurt’s expression softened. “I’m so sorry. I was really lucky with my dad. He’s been great about it. The kids at school, not so much. I can’t say I’ll miss that place at all. Or the people.” He cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He was so much stronger than he had been, but his high school experience had been hell. He straightened his spine after a moment, determined that he wasn’t going to cry over idiots that he’d never see again. Not even if Blaine was the only one paying any attention. “They made my life hell for years. There was this… this particular Neanderthal who thought it was his life’s mission to intimidate the gay out of me. Eventually, things went too far. I had to go to the principal. My dad had to argue all the way up to the superintendent, but he was removed from the school. It was… It was terrifying.”

Blaine’s eyes were wet as he listened to Kurt’s story, and he nodded. “I’m so, so glad you were able to get him away from you. Sometimes, people like that just need to be removed. You never know what someone’s capable of until they push things too far. I… I thought it wasn’t that bad, you know? Sure, there were comments, people would write things where I’d see them or slip me notes, I’d get shoved around occasionally. But it wasn’t like those stories you see on the news. It was never that bad. I still had friends. It hurt me, but I wasn’t completely isolated. I thought I wasn’t completely isolated.” His hands were shaking. Kurt watched as he folded them carefully and put them in his lap. He looked up at Kurt, searching for something in his expression for a long moment. Whatever it was, he seemed to find it. “I think I should tell you why I was in the cemetery.”

Kurt nodded, not sure what he should say to that. It was clearly a bigger deal than he’d thought it would be. He sat up in his chair, giving Blaine his complete and undivided attention. It seemed an odd place to have this conversation, but they were essentially alone in their little corner of the café, and Kurt was ready. 

“So I told you that I was out at my school,” Blaine started, voice quiet, eyes on the table in front of him. “I came out at the start of sophomore year. I’d known for a while. I’d told my family. I didn’t want to hide anymore, so I… I told everyone. It spread through the school like wildfire. You know what happens with this sort of thing. Honestly, it was freeing. It felt like this giant weight was lifted off of me. Even if things were a little harder, I felt lighter. And there was this dance…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, a literal dot dot dot ending. But I wanted to give the dance the attention it deserves, and jumping into it at the end of an already long chapter seemed like a bit much. Not to mention that while it is written, it was extremely hard to write, and I need to go through with an editing hand before it sees the light of day. Let me know what you think. So close to answers!


	7. The Dance, Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of the encouragement and interest (and willingness to be patient) for this next chapter! It means more to me than you could possibly know. I got lucky and had some more free time than I'd thought, so here it is!
> 
> There are a couple of things I want to chat about before we get into the chapter. **Please check the triggers at the end of this paragraph before reading**
> 
> A few notes on structure:  
> \- This is the first (and only planned) instance of switching from Kurt's to Blaine's perspective. I wanted y'all to really be able to experience Blaine's POV through the dance, so I apologize if the shift is a bit jarring.  
> \- The chapter is split in half for 2 reasons: It was hella long, and I didn't want to edit it down just for the sake of making this a single chapter, and I wanted people who don't want to read triggering stuff to be able to get to know Blaine pre-incident. The simplest way seemed to be to split it. (Bonus third reason: it's not edited yet)
> 
> Trigger warnings in this chapter for use of homophobic slurs and general talk of bullying, nothing graphic

The Sadie Hawkins Dance. Blaine had been asked by two of the girls in his class already, and he’d politely declined. They would have been going as just friends, and everyone would know it, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He’d been officially out for a week. His friends had been supportive, even if the football team was giving him some crap for it. Max and his cronies had been making fun of him for being gay for a long time before he came out, it wasn’t like it was a surprise that they’d be worse once their suspicions were confirmed. But that didn’t matter. He was feeling brave. He couldn’t be dissuaded by the word ‘faggot’ scratched onto his locker door, or the fact that he’d been tripped in the middle of the cafeteria. He wasn’t going to be scared away. And, of course, there was Andrew.

Andrew was tall and blonde with bright green eyes and curly hair nearly down to his shoulders. He wore glasses that Blaine thought were pretty much the cutest things on the planet, and he never said more than was needed in any given situation. They’d been in geometry together, and they’d slowly become friends. Andrew had come out at the end of last year, and he’d been an incredible friend while Blaine had been building up his courage. Andrew was gorgeous, he was gay, and they were friends. Who else could he possibly consider taking to his first real dance? They’d go, drink some punch, dance to some silly pop songs, hang out with their friends. Wasn’t that what everybody else would do? Why not them?

Friday before the dance on Saturday night, he finally managed to convince himself to do it. He walked up to Andrew’s locker after the last bell, the school pretty much abandoned, the students either home or at practice for their extracurriculars. “Andrew?” He hated that nervous little waver in his voice that gave him away. He cleared his throat, playing with his fingers and trying to look like he knew what he was doing.

Andrew looked up at him with a little grin before ducking his head, reaching for the last of his textbooks. “Hi, Blaine.” His voice was always soft, a little hesitant. Blaine thought it was lovely.

Blaine took a deep breath, trying to keep his nerves and excitement under control. “Andrew, I was hoping… I mean, I know that it’s kind of a lot, and it’d be in front of the whole school, and I hope that you’re not- It wouldn’t be as anything more than friends, I just-“ Andrew was smiling at him, but he clearly wasn’t going to save him from his own stupidity. It’d be best to just blurt it out. “Will you go to the Sadie Hawkins Dance with me? I have tickets.” He dug them out of his pocket and held them up, eyes bright, looking every bit as hopeful as he felt.

Andrew blinked, clearly surprised by the question, but his smile was genuine. “Really?” He chewed on his lip for a second before nodding. “Yeah. Yes. I’d love to. It’ll be fun to just dance and have a good time.” He hesitated for just a second before wrapping his arms around Blaine in a slow, careful hug. “I’m really glad you asked.” 

Blaine managed to keep himself from bouncing up and down on his toes in excitement as he returned the hug. He had a date. He was going to his very first high school dance with a date. Even if they were going as friends, it was going to be absolutely perfect. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blaine stood in front of his full-length mirror in his bedroom, checking himself over for the millionth time. His dad was out of town on business again, which was sort of perfect. He was out, but that didn’t mean everyone was comfortable with it. His mom hadn’t exactly reacted well to the fact that his date was coming to pick him up, but she wasn’t outright hostile. His dad would’ve probably been a little more direct. He didn’t want to deal with that tonight. He didn’t want anything to ruin his first real (if friendly) date. He ran his fingers over his hair again, making sure it was gelled down just so. He tucked in his white dress shirt to make sure the lines were smooth, . His bowtie was a bright, almost electric blue that matched the lining of his jacket, contrasting against the classic black and white of his suit and shirt. He nodded slowly, unable to help the massive grin on his face. It wasn’t perfect, but he was read. He picked up the box from his dresser containing Andrew’s boutonniere, looking it over one last time. When the bell rang, he practically sprinted from his room down the stairs. He pulled the door open with a smile, cheeks flushed bright pink. It was chilly, he’d have to wear his coat. “Andrew! Um, come in.”

If his mom acted a bit uncomfortable when Andrew helped pin the yellow rose tipped with pink to his buttonhole, at least she was trying. She took all the pictures he knew she’d want, even if she had been expecting a girl instead of a guy. Andrew was dressed similarly to Blaine, though his tie was tied in a Windsor knot and bright purple. Blaine couldn’t seem to stand still, too excited about the night full of possibilities. His very exasperated mother kept changing their positions, trying to get the perfect pre-dance shot. Eventually, they heard a short honk from the car outside. “Okay, Mom, we’ll be back around 11.” He ran up to kiss her on the cheek. “Love you. See you later!”

“Blaine!,” Pam called after him, grabbing his black peacoat from the closet. “Put this on! It’s freezing! Call me if you can’t get hold of Andrew’s dad after the dance, and be careful!”

Blaine grabbed his coat, kissed his mom’s cheek again, and darted for the door, taking Andrew’s hand in his for a brief moment. He let go as they climbed into Andrew’s dad’s car, chatting enough for all of them as they made their way to the school.

The dance itself was shockingly lame. The cafeteria had been festooned in streamers and balloons, a DJ set up on the small corner stage they used for announcements and school assemblies. The lights were turned off, a disco ball suspended from the ceiling, reflecting lights that looked like they’d been purchased from a Spencers scattered around the room. Blaine loved it. Sure, it was incredibly dorky, but it was theirs. He and Andrew were standing in the corner by the punch table, shooting each other the occasional nervous grin. They’d been here for almost half an hour already, and other than a few group dances with their friends, hadn’t done much. It was too loud to really talk. Blaine was grateful for that. He’d heard a few comments aimed in their direction when they’d first been dropped off. People weren’t happy about them being there together, especially Max and his goons. Let them make their comments. Let them laugh. Blaine wasn’t going to hide who he was for a bunch of idiotic bullies. Not ever.

It was another twenty minutes before he screwed up the courage to grab Andrew’s hand and drag him out on the dance floor. It was a silly pop song, loud and fast and ridiculous. Blaine bounced around Andrew, singing at the top of his lungs. They weren’t even touching. Someone bumped Blaine hard enough to nearly send him to the ground, stumbling over his feet as Andrew caught him. It could’ve been an accident. The dance floor was packed. He looked up to see who it might’ve been, but it was just a sea of laughing, smiling faces. Really, it was probably an accident. People were getting knocked all over the place, and it was clear some of the upperclassmen had been drinking beforehand. He brushed it off and started dancing again. It didn’t happen for the rest of that song. Or the next. Eventually, he was completely convinced that it had been just an accident. A tipsy teenager almost toppling him. He put the incident out of his mind.

The night was fantastic. One of the best of Blaine’s life. Andrew kept looking at him in a way that made Blaine’s heart nearly stop. The music was mostly fast-paced and fun, songs that Blaine could jump around to, pulling ridiculous faces and scream-singing with his friend. Toward the end of the night, the DJ started to slow it down, playing more and more slow dances. He managed to resist the temptation until he heard the opening chords to ‘Lucky’. He smiled a little shyly up at Andrew, offering his hand. “May I have this dance?”

Andrew didn’t seem surprised in the slightest. His smile was slow and sweet and genuine. He took a moment to glance around at the people still on the dance floor, but they were all too caught up in their own worlds to take notice of two random guys. There were dozens of couples dancing, some made up of just girls. Surely if that was okay, they’d be fine. “Thought you’d never ask,” he teased very quietly, slipping into Blaine’s arms. 

Slow dancing with the guy he may or may not have a crush on made Blaine’s heart do funny things. They weren’t pressed close together. They were still aware of the fact that they were in public. But they danced anyway, Blaine’s arms around Andrew’s neck, Andrews hands on Blaine’s waist. He kept glancing up at Andrew, blushing, flushed from dancing and that little twist in his stomach. The song ended, and he stepped away, grabbing for Andrew’s hand. “Want to go?,” he asked softly. He didn’t want to be hanging around too long after the dance ended, and it was clearly starting to wind down. It had been an amazing night. He didn’t want someone trying to take that away from them. 

Andrew nodded, biting his lip. He leaned in and pressed a very gentle kiss to Blaine’s lips. It was over in just a moment, but Blaine’s entire being lit up. He’d been kissed. He’d been kissed by a gorgeous, perfect guy who happened to be one of his best friends. He pulled Andrew in for a tight hug before letting go with a shy smile. “Let’s go text your dad.” Maybe he could convince his mom to let him stay at Andrew’s for a little while. They could curl up on the couch and watch a movie, maybe. He’d do anything to let the night last just a little bit longer. It was barely past 10, they still had time. The dance didn’t even officially end for another half hour, so really it wasn’t so unreasonable to ask for a little more time with Andrew. His mom would understand. They slipped out of the cafeteria and toward the main entrance, fingers brushing from time to time, lost in their own little world. 

He was so focused on planning the rest of their evening, on the warmth of Andrew’s lips still lingering against his own, the secure feeling of their fingers laced together when it finally happened, that he completely missed the boys who slipped out of the cafeteria after them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, more suspense, but it won't be too long a wait, I promise!


	8. The Dance, Part II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here it is. The dance. The part everyone's been waiting for.
> 
> This was hard to write, and might be hard to read. Please avoid if you have any difficulties with triggers, this one isn't going to be comfortable. I'm also bumping the rating from T to M, due to this one.
> 
> There will be a sanitized summary of events in the bottom author's note. If you'd like, read that, then jump back and read the last 4 paragraphs. They're important to move the story forward.
> 
>  **Trigger Warnings:**  
>  Graphic depictions of violence  
> Homophobia (including the use of homophobic slurs)

They decided to wait outside. Andrew’s dad was only a half an hour away, and they were both a little overheated from being in the crowded cafeteria, anyway. Blaine stood close to Andrew’s side, tugging his peacoat around himself a little more tightly. He fidgeted, pulling his bowtie off with an exaggerated sigh and tucking it into his pocket. He couldn’t stand still again, shoving his hands in his pockets, taking them out again, taking a few steps this way and that. He was full of a semi nervous energy, and he wasn’t quite sure why. Probably because Andrew had just kissed him. He smiled at the thought, feeling his cheeks heat, ducking his head.

“You’re going to wear out the sidewalk,” Andrew said with a grin, a flush on his cheeks in the chilly night air. “Come on, we’ll walk a little. Dad’ll take a minute to get here.” They wandered toward the parking lot, around the corner of the building. 

“You know,” Blaine said with a grin, “I think they should have a dance like this every weekend. It’d be perfect. We could spend all of our time bouncing around and singing and dancing.”

Andrew just laughed. “Isn’t that what you do in your free time anyway? I know you’re in show choir, they do that kind of stuff all the time.”

Blaine nudged Andrew with his shoulder, laughing. “Hey! We actually dance, not jump around like idiots. Well, most of the time.”

“Oh, look, the fairies have decided to come outside to play.” Blaine’s blood ran cold at the familiar voice. Max. He turned around slowly, swallowing hard as the rest of his crew seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Max. Danny. Alex. Pete. The worst of the football team. The guys that had been shoving Blaine into lockers and whispering slurs whenever they past him for a lot longer than the week he’d been out. His heart was beating hard for an entirely different reason, now. They were just around the corner from the main entrance to the school. If they could just move a little closer, someone would see them. Then they’d be safe. 

“We’re leaving,” he said with a sense of bravado he absolutely didn’t feel. “We’ve already texted Andrew’s dad, he’s only a few minutes away. Then we’ll be out of your hair. You can go back to torturing us on Monday, same as ever.”

“And what? Are you going to give me back the past few hours of my life when I had to watch you two make out on the dance floor?” Max stepped closer, towering over Blaine. He was six two at the shortest, dwarfing Blaine completely.

Blaine’s voice shook a little when he replied. “We weren’t making out, and we’re getting out of your way.” He held up his hands placatingly, trying to make peace. “I get it, you’re personally offended that we were here together, but we were just here as friends. We’re going home. You’ll see us less if you just let us get out of here.”

Max pushed Blaine hard enough to make him stumble backwards. He was used to being shoved around, but he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Max or his cronies quite so worked up.

“Hey,” Andrew said softly, raising his hands. “You’ve made your point. We’re out of the dance, we’re not going back in. There’s not another one. Whatever we did, it’s done. We just want to go home.” 

Andrew’s head jerked to the side as Max’s fist connected with the side of it, and Blaine stumbled toward him. “What the hell? You can’t- Somebody’s going to- Help!” Blaine tried to guide Andrew back around the corner of the building, ducking around Max’s groping arm. He spotted someone, a girl from his biology class. She met his eyes, expression surprised, then concerned. She looked at the football players surrounding them, bit her lip, and turned away, climbing into a car with her friends.

Max’s grip was rough as he hauled Blaine backwards, breaking his grip on Andrew’s hand. He felt something in his shirt give. Buttons, probably. He was oddly glad that he’d managed to get his bowtie off before this had really begun. He loved that bowtie. Max’s fist connected with his cheek, bringing him back to the present and leaving a deep scratch from the class ring he wore on his third finger. Blaine let out a yelp, hand coming up to protect his face. No one was going to help them.

He swung at Max, managing to clip his chin, hissing at the pain in his knuckles. His dad had always told him he had to stand up to bullies. He had to at least try, didn’t he? He tried to find Andrew, head spinning a little from Max’s hit. He stumbled, slightly off balance. “Andrew? We have to go!” But Andrew was being grabbed by Alex and Danny, yelling something unintelligible as he was pulled away.

“You sick little fuck!,” Max yelled, hand on his chin where Blaine had hit him. “Hold him!” 

Pete grabbed Blaine’s right arm, wrenching it up behind his back to the point that he felt his shoulder starting to strain. He was on the wrestling team. Pretty good, too. That’s what Blaine’s dad had said when he’d tried to get Blaine to join wrestling. Why was his mind providing all of this now? His arm was shoved a little further up his back and he whimpered, standing up on his toes to relieve the pressure. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alex, Danny, and Andrew disappear around the edge of the building, away from the entrance. He could still hear them, for now. But where were they taking him? Why wouldn’t they just let go?

Blaine was looking for Andrew. He didn’t see it coming. The fist connected with his side and all of the air left him in a huge huff. His body contracted without his permission, pulling on his shoulder until he actually felt it pop out of its socket. He screamed at the pain, falling to the ground, gripping at his arm, trying to hold it still.

“You think you can just parade around our school, princess?” Max spat as he leaned down over Blaine’s body. “Think you can show off your little faggot girlfriend and not have to pay the price?”

Blaine’s side exploded with pain as Max’s foot connected. He’d heard something snap, and he could feel himself trying to pass out. He curled up in a little ball, torn between the pain in his shoulder and in his side. He couldn’t seem to pull in a full breath. He could taste something coppery. Blood. From the scratch in his cheek? He looked up at Max with wide eyes, utterly unaware of the tears falling down his face. “Please, I just- I just want to go home,” he panted. “Let us go home. We won’t tell anybody, I promise. We won’t come to another dance. You won’t have to see us together. We won’t even talk! Just let us go home.”

“Oh, I won’t be seeing you at all, princess,” Max said with a finality that made Blaine’s stomach drop. Max pulled his foot back, Blaine curled in on himself. The pain in his side intensified with the second blow. He heard a cry from Andrew around the side of the building. His last thought was that someone would hear, someone would come for them. Then there was an incredible pain in the side of his head, the sound of another, deeper snap, and his world went black.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Oh my God.” Kurt’s voice was soft, his face pale. There were silent tears streaming down his cheeks. It was everything he’d ever been terrified of, his worst nightmare, and Blaine had lived through it all. Blaine looked terrible, pale and broken. It was too easy to think about him curled up on the cold concrete, begging for the chance to go home. It made Kurt feel sick. “Blaine, I am so sorry.” He reached out on instinct, wanting to help in some small way, wanting to take that shadow away from Blaine’s eyes. 

He laid his hand over Blaine’s and watched with an odd detachment as his hand slipped right through, landing on the table top below. “Blaine?” He stared at it, like he could somehow force the image to make sense, his hand solid, Blaine’s somewhat transparent around it. “B-Blaine?” 

He looked up. Blaine was crying, tears slipping down his cheeks. He looked small, frightened. Kurt could see the color of the booth seat behind him. Through him. He was fading away before Kurt’s eyes, becoming less and less solid, less real. Kurt grabbed at him, his hand, his sleeve. His fingers moved right through like he was made of nothing but air. “Blaine!” He was practically yelling. He didn’t care if people were looking at him like he was crazy. His best friend was vanishing into thin air right in front of him.

“I’m so sorry, Kurt.” Blaine sounded like he was underwater or miles away, like distance was making his voice echo and distort. Kurt met Blaine’s teary, nearly transparent eyes, his own wild and full of panic, and then he was gone. Blaine was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief Summary:  
> Andrew and Blaine are caught outside of the dance, away from the main entrance by Blaine's main bully, Max. Max has friends with him, and they proceed to beat the crap out of the boys. Andrew taken around the corner from Blaine, but is still conscious as of Blaine's last memory. Blaine's hit in the head, and then fades to black.
> 
> Please go back and read the last 4 paragraphs after the dashed line, it's necessary for the plot of the next one.


	9. Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who's been reading and interacting with this fic. Y'all are amazing. Hope you're still enjoying it! More answers incoming!
> 
> Ongoing trigger warnings from this point:  
> Character death  
> Homophobic language and attitudes (mentions of violence, but nothing descriptive)

Blaine was gone. Blaine was gone, and everyone in the coffee shop was staring at Kurt like he’d lost his mind. He felt like he had lost his mind. Blaine had just faded out of existence in front of his eyes. He scrambled out of the booth, backing away on legs that felt like jelly until his back hit a wall. Not real. Blaine wasn’t real. What was he? A figment of Kurt’s imagination? Could he seriously be that deluded?

He started walking, stumbling out of the coffee shop and into the hot air of a summer that was just starting to pick up. Imaginary? No. No, he couldn’t be. Rachel knew him. No, she didn’t. Rachel knew of him. Because of Kurt. 

Facebook. He had a facebook.

Kurt broke every law imaginable as he whipped his Navigator around corners and slipped through red lights without touching his brakes. He was eighteen and invincible, and he had to have answers. The house was blissfully empty as he leapt up the stairs to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him. His hands were shaking as he pulled up Facebook. Blaine. Blaine A. from Westerville High.

There he was. Grinning and carefree in his picture. But younger. So much younger. Had that been the year it had happened? Had he looked that young when someone had attacked him? He opened the profile, but it didn’t give him any new information. Still, he had more to search with, now. Blaine A. Andrew. Westerville. Sadie Hawkins. He typed the terms into google, watching with a dawning sense of dread as the pages loaded. He skimmed the articles at an almost frantic pace, looking for anything he didn’t already know.

**_Teens Badly Beaten in Post-Dance Attack_ **  
_September 27, 2009  
_  
_Two of Westerville’s youth were brutally attacked following a Sadie Hawkins Dance at Westerville High this Saturday night… Blaine Anderson and Andrew Lavery… motivations and identities of the attackers are still unknown... Both boys were discovered unconscious on the scene by paramedics… transferred to local hospital… thoughts and prayers from their fellow classmates… no further information available at this time._

__

_**Manhunt Continues for Those Responsible for Westerville High Beating**_  
_September 29, 2009  
_  
_…The assailants in Saturday’s attack were unarmed…. Two boys beaten… critical condition at Mount Carmel…. CPR performed on the scene… Police say that there must have been at least two attackers, possibly as many as six…. Manhunt continues, though no additional witnesses have come forward…. According to Police Chief Carson, “… doing all we can… far from the main entrance to the building… none of the students at the dance could identify the attackers…”_

One article in particular caught his eye, and he slowed down enough to read the whole thing. 

**_Gay Bashing in Westerville?_ **  
_October 1, 2009_  
  
_New information has come to light in the Westerville attacks. The boys, Blaine Anderson and Andrew Lavery, were apparently attending the dance as a gay couple. Several students spoke to the fact that the boys had been dancing quite close together through the night. Many remarked that they had seen the boys kissing in a dark corner. There is some speculation that the attackers on Saturday may have walked up to see the two of them engaged in some sort of inappropriate behavior in a private alcove far from the main entrance to the school. If the boys were attacked due to their sexuality, it would be the first case of gay bashing in the history of Westerville, much less Westerville High. Some are speculating that the boys’ behavior may have been the cause of the attack. When pressed for comment, Police Chief Carson said only that he could neither confirm nor deny the allegations. First responders did not comment on the state of dress of either boy._  
  
_Blaine Anderson had only come ‘out’ (revealing his homosexual identity) one week prior to the school dance. Andrew Lavery had been ‘out’ for approximately a year. A student attending the dance stated that he was “made uncomfortable” by the presence of the two boys, that he was worried about them “approaching [him] to dance, or kissing in front of [him].” When asked if he felt comfortable speaking to the administration about their policy regarding same-sex couples, he stated that he had filed a complaint that had been blatantly ignored._  
  
_The administration, when reached for comment, chose to officially remain silent. However, a source within the school district revealed this: “Of course we would have stopped it, had we known about it prior to that night. There is no official policy on same-sex couples attending dances, but there will be now. Blaine had purchased his tickets nearly a month ago, prior to coming out. He’d been pushed around a little in the past for his sexuality. He had many girl friends who would have attended with him. No one could have predicted that he would choose to take another boy to the dance. There was no way to know until they were in attendance, and the administration chose to allow it. This policy will, of course, be changed for future dances.” There has been no official policy released as of the writing of this article.  
_  
_The attack left both gay men in critical condition. The families have yet to make statements about their sons or the rumors swirling about their conduct at the high school dance. Was this a case of gay bashing? Was it a hate crime? Or could it all have been avoided by the administration taking a different stance? It seems the truth may be more complicated than we’d all assumed._

Kurt felt vaguely sick. Inappropriate conduct by two gay men. They were kids. They’d had one kiss in the middle of the dance floor. They were fifteen and enjoying a single night of fun together. He closed his eyes, trying to settle himself. It wasn’t easy. He wasn’t entirely certain it worked. Finally, he opened his eyes and clicked on the last headline, the one he’d been dreading. He opened it, feeling almost numb as he started to read the short article.

**_Dance Turns Deadly for One Westerville Teen_ **  
_October 2, 2009_  
  
_Late Saturday night, after an incident at a high school dance, Blaine Anderson and Andrew Lavery were both rushed to Mount Carmel Hospital. Blaine suffered from broken ribs leading to a punctured lung and a severe head wound, among other injuries. Andrew suffered from multiple contusions in his abdomen, leading to internal bleeding. Both have been in intensive care since the time of the incident._  
  
_Today, the families of both boys spoke out, denying the rumors that have been swirling that they had been engaging in some sort of inappropriate behavior at the dance. William Lavery, with the support of his wife and the Andersons behind him, had this to say: “Our sons attended the Sadie Hawkins Dance together, as friends. They felt a sort of kindred spirit. They were each trying to find a friend to help them through what is a tumultuous experience in any teenager’s life. There is no truth to the rumors that you’ve been hearing, and there is no need to slander our sons’ names for the sake of a story. They were friends, they attended as friends, they were waiting for me at the curb when they were attacked. They weren’t hidden away in an alcove or far from the entrance, they were right around the corner, and would have been in clear view of anyone exiting the dance. Please, if you are a student at the school and you were witness to anything, come forward. The boys who did this to my son are still at large. There was no reason, there is no possible justification for the suffering that Blaine and Andrew have been through. Help us make it right.”  
_  
_The statement was delivered on Thursday morning. That night, one of the boys reportedly passed away due to complications from his injuries. The other remains in critical condition. There has been no additional information released, including the identity of the deceased boy. No further witnesses to the violence have come forward. Motivations and identities of the attackers remain murky, at best._

Kurt stopped reading. There was a bit more, mostly about how witnesses could come forward, but he didn’t care. He felt like he was going to throw up. He stopped, set the computer down, forced himself to breathe. They’d been attacked. By a group of ‘unknown assailants’. Blaine had known. That girl he’d made eye contact with, she’d known. Andrew had known. Anyone who’d seen him for years had to have known. Not a single person stepped forward to reveal his attackers. No one had talked to the police. Instead, they’d started spreading lies about Blaine and Andrew, and the press had eaten it up. He took a few shaky breaths and picked up the laptop again, staring at the last article. It mentioned both boys by name, but didn’t reveal which had died. Blaine. It had to be Blaine.

Blaine, who never seemed to take a sip of his coffee while sitting in a coffee shop. Blaine, who never changed clothes and seemed to appear and disappear whenever he felt like it. Blaine, who had first appeared in a freaking cemetery. 

Blaine, who laughed at all of Kurt’s stupid jokes about Vogue. Who supported his New York dream, even though he knew it wasn’t a possibility for him anymore. Blaine, who had listened to him list off all of his favorite musicals, giving him an odd look when he mentioned any of them that had come out after sophomore year or so. Blaine, who had somehow his best friend, the guy he spent all of his time daydreaming about.

Blaine Anderson was dead.

It was a sick joke. He’d spent years of his life and entirely too much money trying to find the ghost of his mother. Now, he’d finally managed to communicate with someone beyond the grave, and it was the guy he wanted to run away with to New York City. Kurt’s heart seemed to crack in his chest, and he lost it, sobbing into his pillow.

It was a long time before he could do much more than sit around and cry. Every time he tried, he remembered that image of a younger Blaine, beaming up at the camera. He remembered the cold language from the articles. The rumors. He remembered that someone had seen them. Someone had known and had refused to help. Blaine and Andrew had been completely alone. It was days before he managed to do much more than mope. Eventually, he clawed his way out of his head. He needed answers. He needed closure. If not for his sake, then for Blaine’s.

He moved mechanically, gathering up the ridiculous number of tissues he’d managed to go through. He threw them away. He washed his face, moisturized. It wasn’t his full routine, but his skin was crying out for any bit of attention after what he’d been doing to it. He’d talk to his dad in the morning, make his excuses for a few wasted days. And then, he’d find what he needed.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

The cemetery was familiar. It felt oddly cold, though the temperature was still climbing. Maybe it was just Kurt, feeling numb from the sheer volume of emotions he’d been through in the past few days. He climbed carefully out of his car, carrying a bouquet of yellow roses tipped in pink. He didn’t know if he’d see Blaine again today. Part of him hoped he would. Part of him hoped he wouldn’t. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he’d ever be ready. He walked slowly through the tombstones, heading to the section with the newer graves where he’d first spotted Blaine. 

Row after row of them. He read each and every name. Young people, old people, death didn’t discriminate. It had taken his mother when he was barely old enough to remember her. It had taken his best friend before they’d even met. Families, single names, tombstones so new they looked like they’d been erected the day before. Finally, he found it. He stared in numb shock at the stone.

_Beloved son, you will be missed.  
October 12th, 1993 – October 1st, 2009_

He slowly knelt, laying the bouquet at the base of the gravestone. He felt more than heard someone approach behind him. Of course he did. His ghost never had made any noise. 

“Blaine.”  
 


	10. Answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi and happy Memorial Day weekend! Thank you again to everybody for reading and commenting, it always makes my heart happy to see that y'all are still having fun with the story. Let me know if anything in this chapter throws you for a loop.
> 
> I promise, there are happier times coming for our boys. Stick with me, we'll get there.
> 
> Ongoing trigger warnings for character death and homophobia.

Kurt looked over and he could see Blaine’s hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t feel it. It wasn’t like the movies, where he felt all shivery, the hairs on his skin standing on end. It was nothing. He could see the contact between them, but felt only air. If he tried, he could see the outline of his shoulder through Blaine’s hand. How had he missed that for so long? He took a deep, shaky breath, turning back to the grave. 

“I should have told you.” Blaine’s voice was steady beside him, quiet, calm. A direct counterpoint to how it had been in the Lima Bean when they’d last spoken. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know how. You could see me. No one can ever see me. I didn’t- I was being selfish. You have no idea how long it’s been since I had someone to talk to. Much less someone like you.”

Kurt closed his eyes for a moment before shifting, standing and brushing the dirt off his jeans. He’d care about that later, he was sure. For now, he just wanted answers. “Why were you here, that day?”

Blaine was quiet, eyes on the grave. He took a step forward, seeming to touch it. Kurt wondered absently if he could feel it. He’d have to ask him. So much didn’t make sense. How could he sit in chairs? Had he ever been able to touch the coffee cups on the table? Could he interact with the world at all? He shook his head. Focus. He needed to focus.

“I’d never been anywhere but my house,” Blaine said softly. “Not since I… woke up? I’m not really sure what the terminology is. I was with my parents at the old house. They moved, and I followed. I’ve never… I never knew what happened, that night. I remember… Well, I told you about what I remember. After that, there’s nothing until I woke up in my parents’ house, all see through and unable to touch anything.” He cleared his throat. “They never talk about me, you know? Never. They don’t mention me. I must’ve woken up after the funeral, because I never saw the wake or anything. I would’ve followed them if I could’ve. The first time they talked about it was after a phone call. I guess Andrew’s mom had called to talk about something or other. They had a very brief conversation afterward. I had to come here, I had to see for myself.”

“He was young.”

Blaine nodded. “A few days away from getting his driver’s license. If he’d had it, we could have just gotten in the car and driven away. If we hadn’t been so stupid, if we hadn’t been quite so brave, if I hadn’t been so desperate for one normal night. I should’ve known better. We live in rural Ohio. I never meant for anything bad to happen.” His voice cracked as he traced his finger over the letters. “He was my best friend. I just wanted to be a regular teenager for one day.”

****

**Andrew Lee Lavery**

“His parents were divorced. His mom lived in Lima, his dad in Westerville. That’s why he’s buried here. I’ve never- I’ve never been to mine. It must be at the Westerville cemetery.” He wiped absently at his eyes with his free hand, leaving Kurt to question whether a ghost could even cry. But he’d seen tear tracks on Blaine’s face at the Lima Bean. Whatever he was feeling, it was real. Even if Blaine wasn’t. “So many things had to be so perfectly screwed up for this to happen to him. To us. I… For years, I’d hoped that he was okay. I knew- I mean, I figured it out pretty quickly, about me. The whole not being able to touch anything thing kind of gave it away. You have no idea how long I’ve tried to do something stupid like move a pencil or get my mom to look up from her work by tapping her shoulder. She can’t hear me. She can’t feel me. I’m not real to her, anymore. I’m not real to anyone.”

Kurt swallowed hard, forcing himself not to shiver. Blaine was dead. Worse than that, he was dead and trapped, unable to be seen, heard, felt. “It isn’t your fault,” he said quietly. “What happened to you, what happened to Andrew, it’s not your fault.”

Blaine shrugged in a way that had Kurt fairly convinced he didn’t believe him. “It doesn’t matter. My fault or not, he’s dead. We both are.” He turned to look at Kurt. “I’m so sorry, Kurt. I didn’t mean to drag you into this. When I’m with you, I just sort of… forget. Hell, I’ve reached right through a coffee a time or two, sitting across from you. I feel so alive when I’m with you, I feel almost normal. Like this is all just some nightmare and you made it go away.”

Kurt was not going to blush at being complimented by a ghost. Especially not when there were still tears shining on Blaine’s cheeks. “You’ve never- We’ve been in a coffee shop all this time, and I’ve never seen you take a sip of coffee.” He frowned, unable to keep his comments to himself, no matter how hard he tried. “But you sit. You can sit in chairs and things.”

Blaine shrugged, turning back to the tombstone. He stepped up to it and walked through it, then turned and hopped on top of it to sit. “I don’t really get how it works. I can sit, I can stand on the ground without sinking in. I can even lean against walls, sometimes, though those are a little iffy. If I think about it too much or too little, I just sort of,” he gestured down to where he was slipping into the top of the tombstone. “I’ve been halfway through the booth several times before when we’ve been sitting together. Your vantage point just meant you couldn’t see it. Honestly, it was a bit of a relief. It would have been super awkward to try to explain away. It doesn’t work with trying to hold things. I can’t grab a coffee or open a door or touch someone.” He shot Kurt a sad little smile. “I didn’t know you’d tried to take my hand the other day until I heard it hit the table.”

Kurt shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. On a normal day, he’d be furious with himself for messing up a perfect hairdo. Today, that seemed a little unimportant. “I finally find an interesting, gorgeous gay guy in Ohio and he turns out to be a ghost. And here I thought my luck couldn’t get any worse.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow at the compliment, though he shrugged his shoulders. “Beats being a ghost,” he said simply.

Kurt looked at him steadily for a long moment before tipping his head, conceding defeat at that one. “Can you go other places?”

Blaine shook his head. “It took me a long time to figure out how to get here. I have no idea how long. I’m not very good with time. I have no idea if our conversation about all of this was yesterday or last week. Hell, it feels like we met yesterday, but you keep changing outfits, so I know time must be passing. And at the same time, it feels like I’ve been like this for ages. I can pretty solidly appear in my house. Getting here took me… maybe a few months to figure out? I can’t say for certain. It took a decent amount of time. And I think I could only get here because I was so close with Andrew.”

Kurt frowned. “Then why could you meet me at coffee?”

Blaine flushed. “I sort of followed you,” he admitted. “It’s the same way that I can be near my parents. Once I know someone, I can kind of find them. And you gave me a location. So, I could focus on the location and you and get there. I expected it to be a lot harder, but you’re easy to find. Maybe it’s because you can see me, I don’t know. I sort of slipped inside while you were parking. Once I’d been there, it was easy enough that I could get there any time you were around.” 

Kurt took a deep breath, sorting out the information in his head, trying to ignore the sight of his friend buried half inside of a tombstone. “Can you stop that? It’s- Honestly, it’s some mixture of terrifying and hilarious. If I keep looking at you sticking out of a gravestone like a bad Halloween decoration, I’m going to start laughing hysterically or screaming, and neither one of those is the best option right now.”

Blaine hid a half a smile as he nodded and stood, settling on his feet again.

Kurt blew out a breath, forcing himself to focus. “Okay, you know what?” He looked at Blaine appraisingly, letting him hang for a long moment. “I need a coffee.” He started walking, stopped, then groaned. “No wonder people have been glaring at the coffee shop. I thought they were homophobic. They were just reacting to the crazy person talking to himself.” He shook his head, looking back at where Blaine was still standing beside the tombstone. “You’re not off the hook yet, ghost boy. Come on. To go coffees, and then you’re coming to my house.”


	11. Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so, so much for commenting on this fic and letting me know how you feel about it. Believe it or not, you have more power than you might think. Everyone's hearts have been breaking for our boys so much that I decided to write in something a little less heavy, a little more hopeful. That led to a sort of snowball effect that you'll see play out over the next few chapters. The story still follows its original direction, but everything just fits a little better. Thank you all for helping me constantly improve (and for guiding me to one of my favorite chapters so far). It means the world. 
> 
> Because I'm me, there's still a healthy heaping of angst in this chapter. Enjoy!
> 
> Ongoing TW's for character death and homophobia (nothing explicit in this chapter).

The ride home was oddly comfortable, for the situation. They stopped at the Lima Bean drive through for Kurt’s coffee before continuing on to his house. Blaine was humming along quietly to the radio in the passenger seat, even as he slipped part of the way into it. Things should be tense. Kurt knew that. But it was actually a little easier, now that all of their cards were on the table. 

Still, it was a little odd, having a ghost in the car. Sometimes, Kurt would look over and he’d be completely gone, just his voice echoing in the quiet. Then Kurt would glance away for a moment, and he’d be back. He was trying very hard to focus on driving and not how fascinating it was to watch him fade in and out of sight. Or how gorgeous Blaine’s voice was, but that was an entirely different issue he really didn’t want to think about.

As they pulled into the driveway, he turned to Blaine. “Can you do me a favor? I know it’s a little ridiculous, but can you not talk to me until we’re in my room? I really don’t want my dad thinking I’ve gone completely bonkers. He probably has his suspicions on my sanity, but let’s not confirm anything for him.”

Blaine nodded, hiding a smile as he slipped through the car door without opening it. Kurt just shook his head. This was going to take some getting used to. 

He led Blaine into the house, saying a quick hello to his dad before running up the stairs. It was odd, letting his friend into his room. He’d never brought a guy home, much less into his personal space. Not that Blaine was some guy. They were friends. And even if Kurt’s heart did beat a little faster whenever they were together, it wasn’t like anything could happen with a ghost. He rolled his eyes at himself, blowing out a breath. “So, this is my room. We can talk in here.” He closed the door behind them, standing awkwardly beside it.

Blaine was beaming when he turned to look at Kurt. “I love your house. It’s so- There are a million pictures everywhere. There was a pile of shoes by the door. There are all these notes and things all over the fridge and cabinets. It’s amazing. Your dad was cooking, and there was a giant mess in the kitchen. And there were dishes in the sink!” He blushed at the look Kurt was giving him. “What? I can be quick when I want to, and it’s not like anybody else can see me. I just wanted to see the place where you live. See if it reflects you.” Kurt wondered if it did. He didn’t ask, watching as Blaine walked over to Kurt’s shelf, seeming to look for a change of subject. He found it as he reached out to touch one of the pictures on display, his fingers passing right through. “Who’s this?”

Kurt followed him to the shelf, smiling a little sadly as he picked up the photo of his mother, brushing the dust off with his fingertips. “That’s my mom,” he said softly. “I lost her when I was eight. She was sick.” He set the frame back on the shelf, straightening it a little. “There are lots of pictures of her through the house. My dad wanted me to remember her.” He shook his head. “You should see the ones from their wedding. They’re so amazingly eighties. I’ll have to show you sometime.” 

“Oh, Kurt, I’m so sorry,” Blaine said quietly. “I’d love to see their pictures. I’m sure they’re adorable.”

Kurt smiled and nodded. “She’s actually sort of the reason why we met. I was in the cemetery that day to say goodbye to her, before I head off to New York. It didn’t feel right to leave without seeing her one last time. I used to spend hours hanging around in there, hoping that I’d somehow be able to talk to her again. I know it’s silly, but it always felt like it was a real possibility.”

Blaine smiled gently. “I don’t think it’s silly at all. You did end up meeting a ghost there, after all.”

Kurt bit his lip. “I’m half tempted to ask if you’ve ever seen her.”

Blaine shook his head, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve never seen anybody like me. As far as I know, they either don’t exist, or they’re invisible to other ghosts, too. I thought you might be one, the first time we met. I thought that would make more sense than a random living person being able to see me.”

Kurt laughed a little at that. “Nope. I’m solid, flesh and blood. But I’m really glad I found you.” He shook his head. “It’s funny, I used to be so sure I’d meet a ghost, and when I finally did, it was after I’d stopped searching.” At Blaine’s look, he blushed. “I used to be really into this stuff. I’ve got a Ouija board somewhere in the back of my closet, I talked to mediums, I went to see a psychic. I just… I wanted to know. I wanted to be able to talk to her again, to make sure that she was okay. I was convinced I could, I just had to find the right method. It all sounds so ridiculous, now.”

Blaine laughed a little at that. “You know, I can just about picture a little Kurt running around a cemetery with a Ouija board, trying to make contact.”

Kurt was quiet for a long moment. Blaine hadn’t upset him, it was just hard to talk about his mother, about that phase in his life. It was silly now, but at the time, he’d been desperate. “My dad and I didn’t really get along all that well back then. I mean, he’s always been kind and sort of amazing, but he was terrible at tea parties and didn’t understand why I wanted to dress up in Mom’s heels. I love him to death, and we’re a lot better together now. But those first years after Mom died were hard on us both.”

Blaine nodded, reaching out to touch Kurt’s shoulder with a sympathetic expression. Kurt didn’t feel it, but that was alright. He knew what Blaine was trying to do, and that was almost as good. He wiped at his eyes, needing a moment. Blaine seemed to understand, taking a few steps up and down the bookshelf, looking at the pictures, clearly trying not to watch Kurt cry. “Are these your friends?” he asked eventually, gesturing to another frame, this one holding the infamous yearbook photo of the McKinley High Glee Club.

Kurt cleared his throat and nodded, walking over to pick up the picture so Blaine could see it a bit better. “More family than friends, really. We fight all the time. I’m pretty sure half of us hate the other half at any given moment, and who hates who is constantly changing. But we’re always there for each other.” He pointed to Rachel. “That’s my crazy friend who convinced me to cyberstalk you. We’re moving to New York together at the end of the summer. She’s going to go from crazy friend to crazy roommate.”

Blaine snorted. “Is, um, is she wearing a cat sweater?”

Kurt groaned, laughing through the last of his tears. “Don’t remind me. I’m burning them all before we go. And if she shows up with a single pair of Mary Janes, I’m going to murder her.” He smiled down at the picture before setting it aside again. “You’d really like them, though. Mike and Britney are amazing dancers. Rachel’s incredible, when she’s not being obnoxious and needy. Sam’s a complete nerd with a heart of gold. Finn… Well, there’s a whole story about Finn. He’s sort of my step-brother now. I’ll tell you everything, someday. It kind of starts with me putting Rachel in a catsuit.” He looked up, expecting Blaine to be laughing. Instead, Blaine’s expression was unreadable. “You okay?”

Blaine nodded, forcing a half a smile. When Kurt didn’t stop looking at him, he crumpled a bit. “I don’t have any pictures like that,” he admitted. “I had some friends, but Andrew and I weren’t good about taking pictures together. There are the ones from the dance, but even if Mom kept them, I don’t know if I could look at them. There were people I liked in school, people who liked me, but we didn’t spend much time together outside of class. We didn’t get to know each other. I never really had a group of friends like that.”

Kurt’s heart broke for him. “You would have. If you’d- I’m sure you would’ve found your crew if you’d had the chance.” He hesitated. “You sing. I mean, you were humming in the car. Your voice is beautiful. My friends would’ve loved you.”

Blaine smiled a little sadly. “Honestly, I’m sort of jealous. You had music, you had friends. Now you’re going off to New York. I’m so freaking proud of you, Kurt. I just wish I could’ve had the chance. I barely even knew what was going on at fifteen, you know? I died before I even found where I belonged.”

Kurt nodded. He understood. More than he probably should. He couldn’t hug Blaine, so instead, he held up his hand, palm out. “Come here.”

Blaine’s brow furrowed in confusion, but he held up his own hand, palm to Kurt’s palm. Kurt watched them meet. He swore he could almost feel it. Wishful thinking. “You may not have figured it out then, but there’s still time. You belong with me, Blaine. I’m your friend. I can drag you around in my car, where no one will look twice if I’m talking to myself or if I’m singing dramatically along to the radio. We can sing duets; we can talk about anything and everything. I know it’s not much, but I want to get to know you the way I know the rest of my friends. I want you to be a part of my life. You’re not alone. Not anymore.”

Blaine’s eyes stayed on their hands, shining again. Kurt hoped it was the happy sort of tears, but he had his doubts. “You won’t be here much longer,” Blaine said quietly, seemingly unable to meet Kurt’s eyes.

“Hey,” Kurt answered softly, ducking his head to meet Blaine’s eyes. “You’ve got magical ghostly powers. You can follow me anywhere, right?” Blaine nodded slowly, doubtfully, looking like he wasn’t quite sure how to take that. Kurt started to grin. “Then what makes you think you won’t be able to come with me to New York? You can make the drive up with me and Rachel. It’ll be a little awkward not getting to talk the whole way, but she’s a super heavy sleeper. As soon as she passes out, we can talk all we want. And once you’ve been to my apartment, you should be able to just appear there, right? I can show you everything, Blaine. The whole city. I can even get one of those stupid looking headset things businessmen use so I can talk to you in public. You’re not trapped in Ohio.” He was getting more and more excited the more he talked about it. “Maybe I’m the only one who can see you, but maybe not. We could find more people like me. It’s a city of millions.”

Blaine was staring at him, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. For the first time, he looked hopeful. Kurt could imagine it. Leading Blaine through the city, seeing all the tourist spots he never thought he’d get to visit, taking him to a Broadway show. He’d be a cheap date, since Kurt wouldn’t have to pay for more than one ticket. They could do this. They could really do this. He’d have to explain the situation to Rachel, eventually. That wouldn’t exactly be fun, but they could do this. Blaine could move to New York with them.

“Kurt.” Blaine’s voice cracked, and Kurt wished he could squeeze his hand. He pressed their palms a little bit closer instead. “You’re offering me everything I’ve ever wanted. But I- What about my parents? They’re still- They’re still here. I can’t just leave them.”

Kurt nodded. “I get that,” he said quietly. “But you can always come back to visit them. And they- Blaine, I hate to say it, but they can’t see you. They don’t even know you’re there. You can’t help them heal. Staying here is just hurting you. You can always come check on them.” He looked down at their hands. “We have the chance for something, here. I don’t know why I can see you, but I’m so incredibly grateful that I can. I want you to be happy. I want us both to be happy. I can’t be happy in New York if I’m constantly thinking about you being miserable here, and I don’t think you’re happy here at all.”

Blaine swallowed hard, eyes locked on their hands. Kurt waited with bated breath for an answer. “Yes. Yes, if you’ll have me. I’ll pop back here when you need some privacy and to check on my parents. But I- I really want to go with you. More than anything in the world.” He looked up at Kurt, meeting his eyes. Kurt felt his heart crack just a little at the hope, the joy in Blaine’s expression. He was stunning.

He grinned, unable to help himself. “Blaine Anderson, you’re moving to New York City.”


	12. Almost Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are amazing. This has been so much fun to write, and getting to talk to all of y'all is amazing. Thank you for interacting with the story so much and for the feedback. I'm a lucky human being.
> 
> I had a little time to work on this, so I figured I'd give ya another chapter. Let me know what you think! 
> 
> Ongoing TW's for character death and homophobia (nothing explicit)

Over the next couple of weeks, Kurt started to see a new side to Blaine. He seemed to relax, day by day, becoming a staple in Kurt’s life. He was never far from the Hummel home, and if he wasn’t there, Kurt could just call for him, and he’d appear. He was always smiling, always happy. He would sit on the kitchen counter while Kurt cooked, he’d sit cross-legged on the floor while Kurt was on the phone with Rachel, he’d hum quietly to himself while watching Kurt sketch. When they couldn’t speak because other people were around, sometimes Kurt would hum or sing, Blaine’s voice harmonizing easily with his own. They were inseparable. Kurt was fairly certain he’d never been more content.

Technology was a gift. Kurt would pull up a playlist on his computer and start it when he left the house to work at the garage or go out for a girls’ day. By the time he got back, Blaine would know every word and be singing along, fully in character. One day, after he’d been gone nearly six hours, he walked in to Blaine jumping around on the furniture singing ‘My Shot’ from Hamilton at the top of his lungs. He wished Blaine would show up in photographs, just so he could keep that memory forever. He started leaving on movies and tv series. Blaine spent hours watching the Star Wars movies, staring blissfully at the screen. Marvel were his favorite, though, and Kurt managed to find a site that would stream them back to back for him. Whenever he wanted a break, Kurt would find old copies of Vogue and carefully cut the pages apart, leaving them spread over his bedroom floor. That way, Blaine could read the entire thing without having to wait hours for a page to be turned. 

Audiobooks were Blaine’s favorite. It turned out, he was a massive Harry Potter nerd. He loved listening to the books, would beg Kurt to leave them on for the fourth or fifth time. Blaine had figured out his ‘ghost powers’ were a little like disapparating, and he’d vanish from random points in the house just to appear again and try to startle Kurt. Or sniff his coffee. Apparently, he could smell it, even if he couldn’t taste it. It was cute. Kurt was being haunted by the world’s most adorable ghost. 

It was perfect. Blaine was entertained, for the first time in years. He was sweet and kind and incredibly grateful to Kurt for helping him find things to do. They got along spectacularly. He loved helping Kurt pick outfits, sitting around chatting, talking about New York. Their lives were becoming easier and easier. Kurt had never gotten along so well with another human being.

But.

There was just one niggling little detail working at the back of Kurt’s mind. Since their trip to the cemetery, he’d read every article he could find on the Sadie Hawkins Dance. He’d felt a little guilty, like he was prying into a part of Blaine’s life that he’d rather forget, but how could he not? He’d felt like he should, for Blaine’s sake, and his own. But the thing that bothered him was the fact that none of the articles ever stated what had happened to Blaine. Every single article only mentioned one death. That made sense, even if it was tragic. Andrew had clearly died before Blaine. News moved fast, they may not have reported anything after the news cycle had moved on. He could have left it at that, if not for the anniversary article. He’d printed it and hidden it away in one of his desk drawers, where Blaine couldn’t see it.

**__**

**_Remembering the Tragedy of Sadie Hawkins_ **  
_September 26, 2010_

__

_On this day, one year ago, tragedy struck at Westerville High. Blaine Anderson and Andrew Lavery had been enjoying the dance as the school’s first out gay couple when they were brutally attacked. In the parking lot of the school, they were beaten until unconscious. Emergency services were called. CPR was delivered as the students stood by in shock, hating to see beloved friends and classmates in such a state. EMT’s did their best, delivering both boys still alive to the hospital, where they remained in critical condition for days. Unfortunately, in the end, they both succumbed to their injuries._

__

_Andrew Lavery lost his life on the evening of October 1st. In the aftermath of his death, memorials were built in the hallways. Students left little notes. ‘He was a good friend’, ‘Thanks for always letting me cheat off of your chemistry homework’, ‘You are loved, no matter where you are’, ‘Our thoughts and prayers are with you, always’. The school was shut down for a day, and grief counsellors were pulled in to speak with the students. It was a long time before life returned to anything approaching normal. Andrew’s locker is still decorated today with dried flowers from the bouquets that were placed at his memorial._

__

_Today, we remember the loss of Andrew. We remember what he and Blaine went through, and we hope that it will never happen again. The aftermath of the attack was messy. Those responsible were never apprehended, and the press hotly contested whether or not the attack was a hate crime. In the end, the administration passed several new measures to prevent future attacks. Chaperones were located at all entrances to the building during all school events. Same sex couples were banned from attending dances together._

__

_Now, a year later, there’s talk of reversing the ban. A new student in the school has come out as gay and is petitioning to take her girlfriend to a school dance in October. Though she did not want to be identified by name, she provided the following quote:_

__

_“What happened to Blaine and Andrew was tragic. They should never have been attacked. But what happened wasn’t because they were gay, it was because those guys wanted an excuse to hurt somebody. No one should have to hide who they are to be safe. The administration should be taking steps to prevent attacks, not forcing their LGBT students back into the closet with the statement that things like this are just a consequence of being out.”_

__

_As of now, the administration has not weighed in on the situation. One thing is certain. What happened to those boys should never be repeated. As we remember Blaine and Andrew, let’s try to build a better, safer future for the students of Westerville. All of the students of Westerville._

It was dated one year to the day from the dance. And though it said that both boys succumbed to their injuries, it very specifically only mentioned that Andrew had died. He’d scoured every article from that point he could find. There was more about the lesbian student who’d taken her girlfriend to the dance, but the boys were only mentioned in passing, and nothing was said about what had happened to them. If Blaine was dead, wouldn’t it have been in the article specifically remembering them? He knew it was stupid. Blaine was literally a ghost. That didn’t happen to people who were still alive. They’d said he’d succumbed to his injuries. But Kurt couldn’t let it go. It was like the itch at the back of his throat when he was sick, he just couldn’t stop bugging it.

He needed answers. They both needed answers. Closure. He had a plan. He was just a little nervous to bring it up.

“Blaine?” 

The boy in question was curled up on Kurt’s bed, legs sinking through, listening to The Last Five Years, eyes wide and a little wet. “Why have you never told me about this musical before? We need to see it. God, I wish I could google things. What I wouldn’t give for a little bit of technology. Does it ever show around here? Is it still on Broadway?”

Kurt chewed on his lip. “It was never on Brodway, actually, it was an Off Broadway production, and I’ve never seen it. The music is amazing, though.”

“I wish I could touch the piano, just to play for a little while. I’d love to get my hands on this sheet music. It’s so beautiful.” He looked up at Kurt with a grin. “Tragic, don’t get me wrong, but beautiful.”

Tragic and beautiful. How fitting. He cleared his throat. “Blaine, I really need to talk to you.” 

Blaine sat up, crossing his legs and tipping his head to the side. He paled a little, taking in Kurt’s expression. “Am I being too obnoxious? God, I’m being too obnoxious. I’m probably running up your electric bill or something with all of the stuff you let me listen to and watch. I know, I know, I basically sort of moved in, but you have no idea how starved I’ve been for entertainment. It’s almost like being alive again. I haven’t spent any time just sort of fading out of existence, there’s so much to see and do. Your family is amazing, and I finally have the chance to talk to somebody I really-“

“Blaine.” Kurt held up his hand, unable to help the fond little smile and the sparkle in his eyes. He was so cute when he babbled on like that. “I love having you here. That’s not what this is about.” He took a deep breath. “There are some things that I think you need closure on. That I need closure on. And the best way to do that is…” He looked at Blaine, his worried expression, and tried to prepare himself for his reaction. “I think I need to meet your parents.”


	13. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long one this time, and the introduction of Mrs. Anderson! As always, thank you to everyone commenting and reading, you're all absolutely amazing. It's so fun to watch everyone figuring it out! 
> 
> Ongoing TW's for homophobia and character death.
> 
> This particular chapter deals with grief, though from an outsider's perspective

“I want you to take me to your house. I want to meet your parents.”

Blaine stared at him for a long minute. “You want- Why would you... That is a terrible idea. It’s in the top ten of bad ideas anyone has ever had, in the history of the world.”

Kurt watched Blaine half fade away. It had been a while since he’d done that. It only seemed to happen when he was emotional. Lately, he’d seemed so solid, so real. So alive. He nodded. “I want to meet them. I want to find out what happened.” 

“We know what happened.” Blaine spoke a little too quickly, voice clipped. “We know what I am. There’s no point in dragging all of this up with my mom. It’ll upset her, it’ll upset you. I really- Kurt, I don’t want to hear the dirty details about how I died, okay? I’m doing my best to accept everything; I really don’t want to drag all of this up.”

Kurt noticed that Blaine only mentioned his mom, not his dad. He stepped forward, reaching out for Blaine before stopping himself. He wasn’t solid. No matter how badly Kurt wanted to hold his hand, he’d just pass straight through. “Blaine,” he said softly, “I think this is really important. You needed to see Andrew for yourself, right? This is the same thing. I think you need to see, and I think I need to see. I promise I won’t ask for details or anything. She’s not going to give them to a stranger, anyway. I just want to know where you are, so we can visit you.”

Blaine shook his head. “I don’t- It just doesn’t make sense. Why give up on what we’ve got here, right now? Why drag all of that into this?”

Kurt smiled a little sadly. “Blaine, that’s a part of this. You’re a part of this. We can’t ignore it. It’s a pretty big part of our lives. We need closure.”

Blaine looked up at him, clearly conflicted. He opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, then closed it, shaking his head. “Okay.”

“I can go without you,” Kurt offered quietly. “If you give me an address, I can just go have a conversation with them, and come pick you up to take you to wherever you are.”

Blaine shook his head again. “If you’re doing this, I’m going with you. Let’s just… let’s just go.”

 

It was a distinct shift from their last car ride together. Blaine wasn’t humming or singing. He was halfway through the seat the second he sat down, eyes on his hands. He kept fading in odd patterns, his hands fading out, then coming back only for his feet to fade, then he was nearly headless. It was making Kurt feel a bit queasy. He focused on the road. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

Blaine shook his head. “I can’t control it when I’m- preoccupied.” Upset, more likely. “It takes some concentration to stay as solid looking as I am most of the time. It’s easier when I’m not- when I don’t have other things to focus on.”

Blaine was quiet for a long while before he spoke again. “My parents are… They tend to not talk about things. I’ve never heard them talk about me. Ever. Not since it happened. We didn’t have the best relationship when I was still alive. I mean, we did when I was younger, but things were really strained the past year or so.” He cleared his throat, playing with his fingers in his lap. “I mean, the past year before I-… I overheard a phone conversation with someone. I think it was Andrew’s mom. That’s how I found out about him. Where he was buried. Mom didn’t mention me.”

Kurt’s heart hurt. All Blaine had was secondhand information. Their relationship hadn’t been great, and he’d been watching his parents mourn for years. Kurt took a deep breath and let it out. “I promise I’ll be as delicate as I can,” he said softly. “I don’t want to push them. I really don’t want to make anybody uncomfortable. This is really important.”

Blaine didn’t agree with him. He could tell from the set of his jaw, the way his shoulders were creeping up toward his ears. He looked lost and afraid in a way that he hadn’t since that first day in the cemetery. Kurt wanted to hold his hand, touch his shoulder, give him some kind of comfort. Instead, they made the rest of the trip in silence. 

By the time they reached Blaine’s house, he was barely even there, faded away to only a pair of dress shoes on Kurt’s floorboard. “It’s going to be okay,” Kurt tried to reassure him. “I’m disarming. Charming. They’re going to love me. And I’m not going to tell them you’re here, if that’s what you’re worried about. No mentions of ghosts, I swear.”

Blaine didn’t answer. The shoes faded away. Kurt didn’t know if he was still present or if he’d chosen to go somewhere else. He didn’t ask. Instead, he climbed out of the car, getting his first look at the Anderson home.

 

The house was beautiful, if modest. The grass looked like it had been mown with a ruler, all straight lines and sharp corners. The house itself was stone and siding, perfectly maintained. It looked like everything had been painted within the week, though he knew that wasn’t likely. There wasn’t a car parked in the driveway, or a rake left haphazardly in the yard. The hedges were meticulously trimmed, the flowers all in beautifully pruned. It was perfect. It made Kurt’s hair stand on end. He stood a little straighter as he climbed the two stairs to the porch and knocked gently on the door. 

Mrs. Anderson matched her home perfectly. Her makeup was impeccable, her silver-streaked black hair pulled back into a bun with not a hair out of place. Still, there were deep lines in her forehead, frown lines around her mouth. She didn’t look like a woman who had lived a particularly happy life. How Blaine could be so open when his mother was so incredibly closed, he had no idea. She appraised Kurt with an expression that made him feel about six inches tall, though he was determined to get through this. This was for Blaine. They had to know.

“Mrs. Anderson?”

Her voice, when she spoke, was clipped and precise. Kurt had the sudden feeling that he was speaking to a particularly strict school principal. “Yes?”

“Hello, ma’am, my name is Kurt Hummel. I- I was hoping to talk to you about your son.”

If anything, Mrs. Anderson’s bearing turned even colder. “Not interested. Haven’t you people lost interest by now?”

Kurt wondered who she meant. Who was still asking about Blaine? He shook his head, pushing the question aside. “Please,” he said quietly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Clearly just asking wasn’t going to work, so he started to improvise. “I go to his old school. I’m – I’m gay and I’m considering coming out. I heard about what happened. I don’t want to bother you, Mrs. Anderson, I just- I need to know if I’m safe.”

For a moment, a very brief moment, Kurt caught something underneath that cold exterior. A mother’s compassion, maybe. Regret. Pain. He couldn’t be certain, the wall behind her eyes slammed down again too quickly to know. 

She glanced around as though afraid someone might see, but stepped aside, holding the door open. “You have fifteen minutes.”

Kurt nodded, quickly slipping through and into the house. It was beautiful. Perfectly decorated with a cool-toned color palette that hinted at either an interior designer or that Mrs. Anderson had an impeccable sense of style. The furniture was sleek, modern. It looked like a showroom. Suddenly, he understood Blaine’s comments about his own house. This place was gorgeous, but it was empty. No family pictures graced the walls or the mantle. There was nothing on the fridge, not a single post-it reminder or old piece of Blaine’s artwork. The kitchen was perfectly clean, nothing on the counter. The piano in the corner of the living room was closed up, the cover over the keys. It filled Kurt with a sadness he didn’t really understand. “Will I be meeting Mr. Anderson?” he asked softly, needing to break the silence.

She raised an eyebrow. “Not unless you plan on being in London sometime in the next week. He’s away on business.” She gestured to the sofa, not offering anything to eat or drink. Kurt had the impression she wasn’t expecting him to stay around for long. As if the fifteen-minute time limit hadn’t been evidence enough.

“Right.” Kurt cleared his throat, sitting primly in the edge of a shockingly clean, white couch. “I don’t know much.” He knew far too much. “I know he went to a dance with another guy.”

Mrs. Anderson sat on the forwardmost edge of a fashionable grey chair, legs crossed at the ankles, hands gripping onto each other in her lap. She hesitated. “My son-,” she started softly, clearly uncomfortable, “he never meant to offend. He was excited about the dance. He and the other boy went as friends.”

Kurt nodded. “I understand. Can you tell me what happened?”

Mrs. Anderson took a slow breath. Kurt watched her fingers twitch, playing in her lap in a way that was all too familiar. 

“After the dance, they were waiting for Willi- Mr. Lavery to pick them up. They were attacked. Both boys were seriously injured. There was... speculation. That it may have been because he was there with another boy. The police never found any evidence of a hate crime.”

Kurt frowned, chewing on his lip. “Mrs. Anderson,” he said gently, “I... I’m not asking what the police thought. You’re his mother. What happened?”

Mrs. Anderson met his eyes and again, he caught a glimpse of the woman behind the carefully put together exterior. She looked furious. Kurt shrank back a bit in his seat, impressed in equal measure by her fury and her self-control. “The boys who had been giving him a hard time decided that he no longer deserved his life for going with another boy to a dance. They didn’t understand it. I didn’t understand it, either. I still don’t. But the thought of that leading to violence is ridiculous. They had- they had no right.” 

He caught it. A tiny crack in her voice, a bit of actual emotion. He glanced up, and what he saw broke his heart. Blaine. He didn’t know when he’d arrived, if he’d been there the entire time, or just recently. He was standing by his mother’s side wearing an expression of utter anguish. He kept raising a hand like he wanted to touch her, comfort her. He was less than a foot away, and he couldn’t do a thing. He was watching his mother fall apart, in her own, controlled way. Kurt was making him watch. His stomach twisted and he swallowed hard around a lump in his throat. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

The look she shot him nearly withered him to the bone. “You didn’t know Blaine. He may have been a homosexual, but he was brilliant and sweet and kind. You have no idea what I lost.”

Kurt nodded. She was right. He was beginning to know Blaine, but he could never understand what she’d been through. The house, the way she spoke and moved, it made more sense, now. She was trying to get through a loss that was completely unimaginable. And it was a loss. It was obvious in the way that she was speaking about him. He had to be dead. Maybe the news people just lost interest. “May I- I want to pay my respects. Please.”

“Going to go talk to him? He can’t hear you. Believe me. I’ve tried.” She took a breath, shaking herself, forcing her fingers to stop moving. Kurt was watching her put her armor back on. “I’ll give you the address.” She stood, moving to the perfectly organized desk in the corner and dug through a drawer to find a notepad. “Your name is Kurt, yes?”

Kurt nodded, surprised. After a moment, she walked back over, pressing two pieces of paper into his hand. The first was an address. The second was a pamphlet. “There’s a school here in Westerville. We considered it for Blaine, but his father thought it was a bad idea. He wanted him to have the experience of public school, learn to deal with the types of people he’d be around constantly in the real world.” Her expression darkened for a moment, then cleared. “It’s called Dalton Academy. Tuition is expensive, but there are scholarships. They’ve added more need-based scholarships since- since the incident. Apply. There’s a zero-tolerance bullying policy. You would be safe there.” She cleared her throat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” she gestured toward the door. 

Kurt was touched. For all her cold exterior, she was trying to save him. “Mrs. Anderson,” he said gently as he stood, “Thank you. I think- I think he’d be really proud of you for trying to help someone like him. Like me.”

Her expression was unreadable as she nodded, taking his thanks. He had no idea if what he’d said was right or wrong, but he’d done what he could. Blaine appeared beside him, hand on his shoulder. It was almost warm. They left the house together, Blaine barely visible, Kurt clutching the papers in his hand.


	14. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a relatively short chapter, but I'll try not to leave you hanging too long before the next one!
> 
> As always, thank you for the comments and for just following along with me on this crazy journey. We're drawing closer to the end, and to getting some real answers.
> 
> I'm hoping to get the next chapter to you pretty quickly to make up for how short this one is. Enjoy!

“That’s not the house I grew up in.” Blaine had been quiet for nearly ten minutes when he spoke up. His voice was rough, and Kurt wished for the millionth time that there was some way he could help him feel better. “My things are there. Boxes stacked in the spare room. My mom’s not much of one for keeping sentimental things, as I’m sure you noticed. My dad even less so.”

Kurt checked his GPS. They were only twenty minutes or so from the address she’d given him, and they were still in town. “She loves you, Blaine. They love you. You’re not just some sentimental thing. You’re their son.”

Blaine nodded. “My dad’s never home anymore. They weren’t always like this. I mean, they’ve always been a little... uptight. Distant. But not like this. I’ve got my mom’s hair,  
you know? She used to wear it pulled back in a ponytail, instead of the bun. She’d cook while I danced and sang in the kitchen. She never joined in, but she’d smile and laugh when I changed the lyrics to all of the songs. My dad… Well, he and I have never really gotten along. But he loved my mom. They were a good match. He didn’t- he didn’t start acting strangely toward me until I came out. Even then, I think he might’ve just been afraid.”

Kurt nodded, not sure what else to do. Blaine was just talking, clearly getting out some things he needed to say out loud. He didn’t want to interrupt. 

“Everything changed when I- when I went to the dance. It happened, and it’s like they became ghosts, too. My dad started traveling all the time. He’s only home a few times a month, maybe. And my mom... She works as an event organizer. You might have noticed that she’s a little controlling. She takes care of all of the details for weddings or parties or fundraisers. She loved her job. She used to make up stories about the fabulous people she worked for to tell me before I went to sleep. She’d bring me a flower from an arrangement, or a name card from one of the tables when everyone went home. Now, she’s so different. She goes to the event, comes home, goes to bed. I don’t think she even enjoys it anymore. It’s like they just... stopped. Like they were frozen in time right along with me.”

Kurt shivered. That house had been full of ghosts, and he didn’t think Blaine had had anything to do with it. 

Blaine cleared his throat, wiped at his face. Kurt looked away, trying to give him a little privacy to pull himself together. When he looked back, Blaine was staring down at the address his mother had given Kurt with a frown. “This isn’t the right way. The cemetery’s the opposite direction. You should’ve gotten on the interstate.”

Kurt shrugged, though he was beginning to agree with Blaine. They were getting closer and closer, and they still hadn’t left town. In fact, they were turning into an industrial area. He felt a little spark of hope light up in his chest. “It’s the address your mother gave us. I can’t see why she’d give me the wrong one. She’s not exactly the type to be passive-aggressive. If she’d wanted me not to see you, she would’ve just said so.” 

“318. What’s that mean? It’s after the street address.”

“I don’t know. Maybe a plot number? Or maybe you’re in a mausoleum thing, and that’s your- uh, wall number? I have no idea what those are called.” Or maybe it was something else. He felt his heart rate pick up, looking at the GPS again. They definitely weren’t headed into an area that would fit a cemetery. 

Blaine wasn’t even paying attention, staring intently at the address, then at Kurt’s GPS. “This isn’t the right way.”

Kurt couldn’t seem to catch Blaine’s attention, then. He kept shifting his attention between the GPS and the paper, then looking out the window. He was putting together what Kurt was. They weren’t going to a cemetery.

“Blaine.” He was breathless as they pulled up to the building. “Blaine, this is-“

“A nursing home.” Blaine was staring out the window at the modest building in front of them. Kurt couldn’t get a glimpse of his facial expression, he was too busy staring out the window.

Kurt looked at the address, triple and then quadruple checking. His heart was pounding. He couldn’t keep the excitement out of his voice. “Blaine. Blaine, this isn’t- you’re not-It’s a room number.”

Blaine was silent, nearly translucent again. 

“Blaine-“

Blaine shook his head, climbing straight through the car door without opening it. Kurt scrambled to follow, not wanting to be left behind.

He walked on numb feet toward the front entrance. “Um, hello,” he said quietly to the young woman behind the desk, a nurse dressed in hot pink scrubs. Her name was Laura, according to the tag she was wearing. “My name is Kurt. I was hoping to see Blaine Anderson?” 

Laura smiled gently at him, nodding. “Mrs. Anderson let us know you’d be stopping by. You’ll be his first visitor in a while.” She held out a form for him to sign. He didn’t even read it before scratching out his signature. “Take the elevator at the end of the hall. Rounds aren’t for another two hours, so you’ve got some time with him, if that’s what you want.”

Kurt smiled and thanked her, on autopilot as he turned to walk away from the desk. He couldn’t seem to keep his hands still as he walked toward the room number Blaine’s mother had given them. He stared at it for a long, long moment. Blaine was behind that door. Whatever state he was in, he was right there. Ten feet away. Maybe twenty, if it was a really fancy nursing home. He couldn’t seem to make himself go in. What if he was wrong? What if this was all some sort of cruel prank? What if they were just storing his dead body or something? He was just starting to panic when Blaine stepped up beside him. He could almost feel Blaine’s hand slide into his own. Almost. 

“Kurt,” Blaine said softly, “Open the door. Please.”

Kurt took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped through, hand in hand with his ghost.


	15. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me for this one. 
> 
> Updates will probably go back to being twice a week after this, just got a little carried away this week and wanted to share the madness.
> 
> Y'all are seriously amazing. Thank you so much for sticking with me on this crazy ride so far. Your comments mean the world to me, they really do.

For a moment, Kurt thought they were the victims of a horrific practical joke. The boy on the bed didn’t look at all like the Blaine he knew. Blaine was small, but this kid was absolutely tiny. Laying in the bed, he looked like he might still be fifteen, frozen in time. He was pale, far too thin, laying perfectly still. Blaine was always moving. Playing with his fingers, tapping his foot to whatever song was stuck in his head, pacing furiously back and forth while belting out lyrics. His curly hair was always just about to escape its gel prison. The boy’s hair was cut short, laying funny on one side due to a thick scar that ran from just above his left eyebrow into his hairline. There was a machine off to the side hissing in perfect harmony with the rise and fall of his chest. A feeding tube snaked its way up his nose, an IV line hung unobtrusively on its pole, ending in a little gauze pad on his arm. 

Still, it was Blaine. Kurt’s knees went a little weak. He caught himself on the visitor’s chair, managing to keep himself upright. “Blaine.”

It was Blaine. Smaller, unhealthy, not even breathing on his own, but it was Blaine. His Blaine. The sheets clashed against his skin tone. Of course, anything would clash against that horrible shade of green. His mind latched onto that one small detail, letting it annoy him, something he could understand. Maybe even change. There was a vase of flowers in the corner, a picture on the nightstand. Maybe he could bring in a set of sheets that weren’t hideous. He got a little lost in his head, staring at those hideous green sheets until he tried to shake himself out of it. “Blaine, I-“ He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. When he was ready, he turned to look at his friend. 

Blaine was gone. 

“Blaine?... Blaine!” He couldn’t help the panicky little tone in his voice, the way he was starting to tremble a little. Being in here was spooky enough with the constant, slightly creepy his and beep of the machines. Suddenly not being able to see his best friend, the ghost, was significantly worse.

“Here.” Blaine’s voice sounded odd. Muffled. Kurt still couldn’t see him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Blaine sat up on the bed, half out of his own body.

“What the hell?” Kurt shouted, scrambling back against the wall. “What are you doing?” 

“Sorry,” Blaine shrugged, his expression stormy, his voice a little off. “I was thinking- I- I mean- it’s what would’ve worked in the movies, you know?” He stood, walking out of his own body toward Kurt. “I’m... God, I look bad. Are we sure I’m not dead? I look like a corpse.” 

Kurt pointed silently to the heart rate monitor, keeping steady track of Blaine’s vitals. “Definitely alive.” He moved back to the door, pulling the chart off the wall. He stared at it for a long time before he could convince himself to read it. “Blaine Devon Anderson.” Well, he had Blaine’s middle name, now. He felt a little nauseous. “Coma beginning in September of 2009. Graduated to a persistent vegetative state in November of 2009. Brain activity stable, no improvement.” 

Blaine was in a coma. No, he was in a vegetative state. Was that better? Worse? His stepmom was a nurse, he should really know these things. He should know something about it, at least. It was just far beyond his realm of experience. Still, a vegetative state wasn’t dead. He looked to the heart rate monitor again, watching it for a long few minutes, the red line proving over and over again that Blaine was alive. His heart was beating. “It all makes so much more sense. The articles didn’t say you died because you didn’t. Your- the house- the move- it must’ve- Damn, I bet this is expensive.” He winced. “Sorry. I don’t mean- I just meant that I understand why they’d move. But Blaine, this is good! People wake up from these! I- I’m going to- I’ll do some research. You’re not actually a ghost!”

Blaine wasn’t even looking at him, still staring at the lifeless body on the bed as though it held the answer to all of life’s mysteries. He held out a hand, seeming to watch his fingers disappear beneath his own skin. “Kurt,” he said softly, “I don’t think people wake up from this.”

Kurt had no idea what to say. He didn’t know enough. But he would find out. A little research would make everything clearer. There had to be a way to wake him up. He was here, he was whole, there wasn’t anything wrong with his mind. Assuming ghosts came from his mind. God, it was hard to process all of this. He stepped a little closer, trying to provide moral support. Blaine wouldn’t look at him. He kept his eyes on the bed, on his own body, until he turned to Kurt. He had no idea how long it had been. Ten minutes? An hour? He’d been furiously preparing a list of questions for Carol and an excuse to ask them, trying to figure out the best way to research all of this. He was going to find a solution. There weren’t any other options.

“Kurt,” Blaine said gently, “I need to go.”

Kurt just nodded, grinning in Blaine’s direction, though he’d turned away again already. “Right. Okay. This is a lot. Let’s go home, and then we’ll figure out what to do.”

 

Kurt sat in his bed, Blaine beside him as he opened his laptop, closing out of the Broadway playlist he’d been playing for Blaine for the past few days. Despite Kurt’s best attempts, Blaine hadn’t said a word since they’d left the nursing home. Kurt was a little worried. But things would improve with a little research. Knowledge was power, after all. He started digging through page after page on comas and vegetative states. There was so much information out there, it was almost unbelievable. Blaine case wasn’t all that unique, though the papers didn’t seem particularly hopeful on his chances of recovery. Not after so long. Still, Kurt knew there had to be a solution. 

Eventually, he noticed that Blaine was no longer paying any attention. He turned to his friend to find him sunk half into the bed, staring down at his lap, expression dark. He reached out, holding his hand over the space where Blaine’s hand should be, warm and solid beneath his own. “Blaine,” he said gently, “this is a good thing. We’ve found you. We can wake you up. There’s got to be a reason you’re here with me instead of unaware of the world in that hospital bed.”

Blaine looked up at him, lost and frightened and something else. Angry? How did that make any sense? Kurt flinched back, pulling his hand to his lap. He’d seen that expression a few too many times in his life. “I’ve been like that for years. Just... laying there. I’ve been reading over your shoulder. You know what the chances are of getting better. They’re tiny, Kurt. Astronomically small.”

Kurt nodded. “I understand that. But there is a chance. A real chance. No one in any of those papers has ever mentioned having out of body experiences during their comas. States. Whatever we’re calling this. They haven’t had what you’ve had.”

Blaine snorted. “Vegetable, Kurt. Call it what it is. I’m a vegetable. The sad sack that’s used in soap operas to provide drama. Tension. That’s the only place people like me wake up. Fiction.” He shook his head. “That’s just it, Kurt. No one’s mentioned something like this after waking up because no one as far gone as me has woken up. Look at the papers you’ve been reading. Look at the statistics. It’s medically impossible for me to get better. You saw the body on the hospital bed. I looked like a freaking skeleton. I haven’t improved at all in three years. How can you possibly think that some miracle is going to pull me back now?”

Kurt hated the way his heart was pounding in his chest, the slight ringing in his ears. What Blaine said made sense. None of the papers had given people a very good chance after more than a month. Blaine had been out of it for three years. “No, there’s- There’s a reason. We can do something about this. We can wake you up. I’ll do more research. This is just the medical stuff. Maybe there’s some stuff related to the whole almost ghost th-“

“What? Going to start calling psychics again? Mediums? Going to chase after me the way you chased after your mom?” Kurt’s stomach dropped, straight into the living room downstairs. He watched Blaine start pacing angrily back and forth. He could only stare.

“Kurt, don’t you get it? I’m dead. I’m completely, utterly dead. My body’s just too freaking stupid to know it. I’m dead in a hospital bed and my parents are keeping me alive like some sick experiment.” He ran his hands through his hair, eyes wild, movements jerky, out of control. He was fading in and out of sight. His left arm was nearly gone, his right foot almost completely solid. Then they switched. Kurt focused on the details. Left shoe gone. Top half fading. Right fist so solid it could be real. 

“I’m dead and the only friend I have in the world is a crazy person who thinks he can somehow bring me back.” He stopped and looked Kurt dead in the eyes. “I’m not that person on the bed, Kurt. I’m not some corpse. I sing. I dance. I jump around like an idiot and I play the piano too loudly at four in the morning and I- I- I can’t. I just can’t.”

The last word was very nearly a plea. Whatever he wanted, whatever he needed so desperately, Kurt couldn’t provide. At the moment, all he could think about was the twist in his stomach, the fury in Blaien’s eyes. He couldn’t do this. Not right now. “I think you should go.”

Blaine reacted like he’d been slapped. For a moment, he appeared to be almost solid, almost real. His expression shifted. Anger, grief, guilt, pain. And then he deflated, like a balloon introduced to the business end of a pin. He gave Kurt a short nod, turned on his heel, and vanished.

Kurt was alone.


	16. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone still reading and enjoying this story. I love seeing your comments, getting to talk with y'all a little.
> 
> I'm also eternally grateful for the opportunity to edit and re-write before I post these. I love the little twists and turns that process introduces.
> 
> I'm going out of town for a little while, so the next update will probably be Sunday at the earliest. We're coming up on the end, now, only a few chapters left. Enjoy!

Kurt’s world shifted, with Blaine gone. He was hurt, frustrated. But more than anything, he was shocked. Blaine had always been sweet, kind, compassionate. He’d never seen him lash out like that. He didn’t really know how to react, how to reconcile this new Blaine with the guy he’d been steadily incorporating into his life. So he stopped trying, letting it mull over in the back of his mind while he focused on other things. 

He found himself doing research in his free time. He asked Carole more than once over dinner about coma patients and patients in vegetative states. In fact, he asked so many times that she started asking questions of her own. At that point, he stopped asking her, instead calling any doctor who would answer, writing down all the details of every conversation to make sure he didn’t forget anything. He read article after article. He spent hours pouring over stories of people with out of body experiences, people who had claimed to see ghosts. He even called a few of them. Some were obviously making things up. Some, he believed. None were in his particular situation with Blaine.

More than anything, he thought about how Blaine had reacted from the second they’d seen the nursing home. He didn’t think Blaine was angry or hurt, anymore. Kurt tried to put himself in his shoes, looking at a skinny, sick, barely alive version of himself in a hospital bed. Blaine owed him an apology, he’d been a complete dick, but Kurt was understanding more and more that he was probably just afraid. 

After a few days to cool off, and a few more just out of spite (he wasn’t perfect, after all), he decided it was time. He was ready to speak to Blaine again.

Since he hadn’t seen Blaine in nearly two weeks in his house (and four hours of walking around calling out to him like an idiot hadn’t worked), he started at the Lima Bean. He spent three days there, all day, every day. The only person he managed to speak to was a barista who came up and asked him shockingly intimate questions about his mental health. Apparently, she’d been on shift the last time he’d been there with Blaine, freaking out over an apparently empty booth. After that, he’d tried the cemetery. He’d taken more flowers to Andrew’s grave. But Blaine was nowhere to be seen. He’d even stopped by Blaine’s house, though he hadn’t managed to build up the courage to walk to the front door. Blaine’s mother was terrifying. Besides, he had no excuse for a second visit. 

For over a week, he searched. It was the beginning of July, and it was desperation that brought him back to the nursing home.

He said hello to the girl at the front desk. He remembered her from last time. Lacey? Lydia? He snuck a peek at her nametag. Laura. Right. He smiled and waved as he slipped past her to Blaine’s room. He sat at Blaine’s bedside, silently reading Vogue. Blaine didn’t make an appearance. His Blaine. The real Blaine. 

He sighed quietly, letting himself look again at the body on the bed. The sheets were yellow, this time. And still hideous. He needed to talk to whoever ordered their linens. There was no reason to somehow find the only colors that would clash with Blaine’s skin and wrap him in them all day. He reached out and held Blaine’s hand, cool and dry. “My mom’s hands were always dry, too.” He barely even realized he’d been talking out loud. “When she was in the hospital, toward the end. I kept chapstick in my pocket and I’d sit by the side of her bed with a tube of her favorite lotion. I thought it’d help, make her feel a little better.” He ran his thumb lightly over the back of Blaine’s hand, squeezed. Nothing. No response. “I was terrified of hospitals, back then. This isn’t a hospital, but it feels the same. It smells the same. Sick people in little rooms, surrounded by strangers. She hated it. Always said that all she wanted was to go home.” He looked up, watching Blaine’s chest move steadily as a machine pumped air into his lungs. “You know, she always hid her head. I thought she just liked the scarves. They were such pretty colors. Once her hair was gone, I just thought she just preferred them to being bald. But she didn’t ever look, when she tied them. She didn’t like seeing herself in a mirror. I’d ask her why, and she’d always blow it off, saying she’d rather look at me or Dad or old pictures. I didn’t understand it, then.” He forced his eyes further up. Pale cheeks, dark lashes, that ugly scar twisting its way into Blaine’s hairline. “I get it. You’re- You don’t look a thing like you used to. Your world is completely different. You don’t know what it’s going to be like when you wake up. There could be brain damage. You’ve been out for so long, you’ve lost so much muscle, it’s going to be a long time before you can do anything on your own. I know why you’re scared, Blaine. I know why you freaked out.”

No reply.

“You were a dick.” He checked again, glanced up at Blaine’s face. Still nothing. “I mean it. You were a complete and utter ass to me. You owe me an apology.” He’d hoped maybe that would spark something. Blaine didn’t like being rude or even remotely inconsiderate. But there wasn’t any response. 

He cleared his throat, gearing himself up. He had to be honest, if he had any hope of Blaine waking up. Or even just appearing to him again. “I was angry with you, when I asked you to leave. You were scaring me. You looked- God, you were so upset. You were angry, you were frightened, and you were lashing out at me. I keep forgetting, sometimes, that this all happened to you when you were fifteen. You were so young. You’re still so young, and you’re having to see yourself like this, having to face the reality that you might-“ He shook his head, not sure which reality was messing Blaine up. That he might not wake up, or that he might. 

“It’s not like you’ve had a great experience with people. Your dad sounds like- Well, he just seems like he wasn’t around much. Your mom is amazing and terrifying and one of the coldest people I’ve ever met. Your life at school was hard. I get it. Believe me, I understand what it’s like to want to be alone so that people can’t hurt you. I know what it’s like to be scared. And if I had to come back to something like this…,” he trailed off, looking at Blaine’s body again. His collarbones were clearly visible beneath his hospital gown, his fingers were bony in Kurt’s grip. “But it can be a second chance, Blaine. The world isn’t a terrible place. I’ll show you. I’ll bring you up to New York to visit me when you wake up. We’ll see a Broadway show. We’ll walk the streets and I’ll hold your hand and show you that you don’t have to be afraid. The world’s changing. Things are getting better every single day. Think of how much better it’ll be to experience New York together. Real and solid, like this.” He squeezed Blaine’s fingers, willing him to hear, to understand. “I don’t blame you for lashing out. I can forgive that. I’m pretty sure I could forgive you anything, if you asked. Just… Just come talk to me, Blaine. Please. Show me that you’re still here.” 

Silence. No answering voice. No movement against his hand. He waited a long time before conceding defeat.

“Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

 

“We picked an apartment,” Kurt said softly. It had been nearly a week since his first one-sided conversation with Blaine. Despite his best efforts, Blaine had stayed hidden. He hoped that he was okay, wherever he was. He hoped he’d calmed down. He hoped he’d be ready to come home soon. In the meantime, he’d taken to talking to Blaine any time he was in the room. Mostly, he talked about nothing. His dad’s shop, Finn’s adventures, his shopping days with Mercedes. He wasn’t planning on today being any different. “It’s absolutely hideous. The walls are brown. It only has a mini fridge and a two-burner stove. But it’s ours.” 

He flipped through the pages of an old Vogue, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He just couldn’t seem to sit still, today. He knew why. Tomorrow was two weeks until he was supposed to leave for New York, to give them time to settle in before classes started for Rachel. His life in New York was beckoning. It was the end of the summer. It was time to go, leave Ohio and everything in it behind. And despite their best laid plans, it was beginning to look more and more like he’d be leaving Blaine, too. He had to try, one more time. “I’m going to be packing, soon. Putting my whole life in boxes and leaving this place. I’m going to be leaving you.” No response. There was never any response.

“I keep looking at your Facebook picture. Partially because it’s the only proof that I have that you aren’t just some magical creature I made up in my head.” He mentally inserted Blaine’s laugh, the way his eyes would crinkle up at the corners at the idea of himself as some magical being. He missed hearing Blaine laugh. “But mostly because I just can’t help myself. I never knew you when you were that kid. I didn’t know you when you laughed that easily, not a care in the world. And maybe you did have cares. Maybe even then, you were scared of going to school. Maybe you were afraid of losing your family. Maybe you were absolutely terrified that someone was going to figure it out push you out of the closet before you were ready. But you just look… happy. I want to see that. More than anything in the world, I just want to see you smile like that again.” He paused, reaching up to brush back Blaine’s hair. He hesitated before letting himself very gently touch the scar. It was such an ugly thing, marring Blaine’s beautiful skin. It would fade. Kurt could teach him how to hide it, with a little practice. It could be just another feature, instead of something that drew the eye.  


“I keep thinking about why. I mean, it doesn’t make any sense, right? Why can I see you when your own family can’t? After your little outburst, I started to think that maybe it had to do with all of the time I spent looking for my mom, after she died. You weren’t exactly wrong. I went a little crazy. I spent hours poring over books about mediums and seances. I tried Ouija boards, psychic hotlines. I’d have given anything to just talk to her. Just for a few more minutes. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much money I paid or what branch of ‘magic’,” he could actually hear the air quotes in his voice, “I focused on, it never happened. So I thought maybe this was what all of that had been preparing me for.”  


“But then I realized that didn’t make any sense. Dead people don’t come back. Ghosts aren’t real. They don’t exist. You couldn’t talk to me because you were a ghost. You could talk to me because…,” he trailed off, looking at that pale skin, the slight movement of eyes beneath their lids. “I’ve never believed in fate. I don’t believe in God or destiny or soulmates. I’ve always just figured that we were on this rock for as long as we were able to stay here, and then we died. No grand plan, no mission, no ‘destined for greatness’. I don’t think you found me because you and I were meant to meet. That’d make everything too simple, too easy. Destined to be together would mean we wouldn’t have to work for it. That things would just work out for us. But you know better. I know better. That’s not how the world works. I think you found me because you were lonely. I think, after years of trying to be okay on your own, you looked for a kindred spirit. I think you searched for someone like you. Open to something a little strange. Bullied and beaten down, even for the same reasons. Lonely. You needed me. And I-… I needed you. I need you.” He smiled slightly. “I was lonely, too. Sometimes, it feels like I’ve spent my entire life looking for you. You make me smile, Blaine. You make the world a brighter place, just by being in it. And you found me. Even with this in the way, you found me. You became my best friend. You became someone I-,” he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “You became someone I need in my life. I’ve never had someone like you. Someone I want to be around all the time. You’re the first person I want to call when I get good news or bad. I just want to see the way you smile when you’re excited for me, or the way your eyebrows get all sad when something happens that you think is unfair. Even that always makes me happy. You care enough to get all droopy on my behalf. We found each other, Blaine. Not because we were fated to, but because we searched until we found someone who made all the searching worth it. I’ll be damned if you think I’m going to let go of that, now that I’ve found it.”  


“You’re not gone. You can’t be. I know you didn’t stop existing when I told you to leave me alone in my bedroom. You’re still here. You can hear me. And I want you to come back, Blaine. I need you to come back. I can’t lose you. Not when I only just found you. You can’t leave me alone again. I finally know what it’s like to live in a world with someone like you in it. We have plans, you and I. We’re going to New York. I’m going to show you the Empire State building, the Statue of Liberty. I’m taking you to a Broadway show. Remember, Blaine. Remember why it’s worth it. We’re worth it. Come back to me. Come home.” 

Silence. Stillness.

He’d really been hoping that would work. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.” If his voice was a little unsteady, well, that was between himself and Blaine.

 

Kurt made small talk with his dad over dinner. He nodded at Carole’s questions, then begged off from dessert, claiming he had a headache. He wanted a little time. He needed to make a plan. New York was calling. He needed to figure out how to have everything he ever wanted. Blaine, the city, the internship, all of it. He’d meant what he said. He wasn’t giving up. 

When he opened the door to his bedroom, he didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. There, half visible, the light from the setting sun shining through his skin, was the person he most wanted to see in all the world.

“Blaine.”


	17. Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a seemingly endless iteration of drafts, here it is! Our boys reconnecting. 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone who's been patiently waiting for this chapter. Y'all's comments make my day. 
> 
> TW for light references to homophobic violence, nothing explicit or descriptive.
> 
> Only two (maybe three? We'll see how the writing flows) chapters left in this story. Cheers!

Kurt stood in the doorway for a long moment before stepping through and closing the door behind himself. “You’re here.” 

Blaine turned toward him, squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He seemed to be collecting himself for something. “I’m sorry.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow. After everything, he’d been expecting a little more than that. He crossed his arms over his chest, expression neutral as he leaned against the door. “Okay.”

Blaine shook his head, took another breath, and tried again. “I know, I know. I had this whole- You wouldn’t believe how long I worked on this big speech. There were apologies for days, I even seriously considered a musical number. Kind of talked myself out of that. But then I went to the nursing home to talk to you, and you were there and you were- you were talking. I’m sorry I eavesdropped.” He frowned a little. “Does it count as evesdropping if you were talking to me to begin with?” At Kurt’s expression, he faltered a little, shooting him a nervous smile. “Sorry. Okay. Let’s try this again.” He stepped aside. “Want to come sit down so we’re not just standing around awkwardly?”

Kurt shook his head. “Not yet.”

Blaine deflated a little, then nodded, seeming to accept that answer. “Okay.” He looked up at Kurt, eyes wide and sincere and heartbreakingly beautiful. Kurt ignored that last one. “I am so, so sorry, Kurt. For everything. But especially for being such an ass the last time we spoke. It was out of line to bring your reaction to your mother’s death into any of this. What you did to try to reach her was beyond sweet. And you weren’t wrong. Clearly there’s something real about all of that, or we wouldn’t be talking at all. Not that I’m a ghost, but I’m- Well, I don’t know what I am.” He cleared his throat. He was clearly nervous. Kurt could’ve put him out of his misery. He didn’t. 

“I panicked. I completely, one hundred percent panicked. I saw myself laying there in that bed, and it was like looking at myself in a funhouse mirror. Too skinny, weirdly tall. Can you even go through growth spurts while in a coma? I mean, I get that I’m still short compared to you, but to me, it was just weird looking. And they messed with my hair, Kurt.” He patted his own hair, as if to make sure that it hadn’t changed. He looked to Kurt, pleading. “There was nothing familiar about it at all. I didn’t even see me, I saw… I imagine what it’s like if you’re a celebrity, and you go into one of those wax figure museums. You and not, at the same time. And then we came back here and you were talking to me about waking up and I-“ He stopped and closed his eyes, clearly trying to center himself. It didn’t quite work. “We had plans. You and me and New York. I was going to live in your apartment. Follow you around. I know it seems stupid, to get so attached to the idea of being a ghost that you panic when you find out you’re alive, but you- you gave me hope, Kurt. You gave me a future. That future didn’t include waking up in a hospital bed without the ability to do anything but lie there.”

He moved to the bed and sat on the edge, this time hovering about an inch above it instead of sinking through. His shoulders sagged in defeat. Kurt took a half a step forward before stopping himself. He needed to hear all of this, and he had a feeling Blaine needed to say it all. When Blaine spoke again, he was staring at the floor by Kurt’s feet. “The thought of waking up terrifies me. I remember that night. I remember what happened. But I don’t- I can’t feel it, you know? Sometimes I can. I get little flashes. But there’s no physical body to be in any pain. It’s just a memory. Whatever they broke or cracked or damaged, there’s nothing there anymore. If I wake up, it’s going to hurt. I’m going to- You saw my body. There’s no way I have much muscle left. There’s no way everything isn’t going to hurt. Which means no sitting up on my own, no walking. Hell, I’ll be shocked if I can even feed myself. Waking up means someone taking care of me all the time, fighting like hell just to get back the basic things I take for granted even as a ghost. Like this I can walk and talk and be close to you. I get that I’m not really here, but it feels like I am.” He let out a bitter laugh. “And it’s not just the physical stuff. I was reading over your shoulder, Kurt. People who have been out this long end up having serious issues with their heads. Brain damage.”

Kurt shook his head, taking another step forward. “Hey,” he said gently, waiting until Blaine looked up. “Whatever you are right now, your head is just fine. Don’t you think you’d be messed up like this, too, if you were really damaged? You might have some trouble for a while, but you’ll get better. You’re too eloquent a ghost to be brain damaged.”

He played with his fingers in his lap, head falling forward as he shook his head. “ Even if I get lucky and the damage isn’t too bad, I might not know my name or remember anything from before the- the incident. And I don’t know how any of this works.” He looked up at Kurt, swallowing hard. “What if I can’t remember any of this? What if I don’t remember you? No one in any of your articles mentioned something like this. What if they all just forgot?”

Kurt could see tears in Blaine’s eyes until he looked away. “We had a plan. A solid plan. A plan that let me stay with you, even if it wasn’t exactly a normal… friendship. But if I wake up… You leave for New York soon. I don’t even know how soon, I’m not sure how long I was gone. And then you’ll- you’ll be gone and I’ll have woken up just to lose you. If I never do, at least I get to keep you. Keep this.” 

Kurt’s heart ached in his chest. He moved forward and carefully crouched down at Blaine’s feet, reaching out to let his hand hover over where Blaine’s should be. He could swear he felt warmth. He met Blaine’s eyes. “You’re never losing me,” he said simply. “Not as a ghost. Not if you wake up. Not ever. Not unless you want to. Okay? You’re one of the most important people in my life. I’m not losing you. If you don’t remember me, then I’ll just have to remind you. We became friends once, in the weirdest of circumstances. Even if you forget me, Blaine, I’ll still be there.”

Blaine looked up, meeting Kurt’s eyes and biting his lip. “Even if I don’t remember? Even if I can’t walk or talk and I- I speak Klingon or something?”

Kurt shrugged, not even entirely sure what Klingon was. Something from a tv show, maybe? “Then we’ll deal with that if and when it’s necessary. I’m not going to stop caring if you have some trouble with words or if your hands are a little shaky. Not even if you don’t remember. I’ll remember for the both of us. I’m not going to abandon you. I’ll call you all the time, see you on Skype, I can come visit. And when you’re feeling better, you can come for a visit. I’ll take you to all the best tourist traps in the city. We’ll be okay. You won’t be alone, Blaine. I promise you that.”

Blaine squeezed Kurt’s hand. Or at least, he seemed to. He searched Kurt’s eyes for a long moment before tentatively nodding. “Okay. As long as you promise to help me remember, I’ll try. I’ll try to wake up for you.”

Kurt’s grin grew at that, and he wished more than anything that he could kiss Blaine’s cheek. He flushed a little at the thought, pushing it away. “I meant what I said, you know. Every word of it. You’re my best friend, Blaine. I’m not ever letting you go. Even if you will have to ceaselessly compliment my outfits for at least a month as penance for making me sit around for weeks waiting on you.” 

“Weeks?” Blaine looked horrified. “Oh, God, I thought it was a few days. I really made you wait for weeks?”

At Kurt’s not, Blaine shook his head, covering his face in embarrassment. At least, Kurt thought it was embarrassment. But after a few moments, it seemed Blaine was having a little trouble catching his breath. He must have been more embarrassed than Kurt thought. Or maybe he was still upset? 

“Hey, don’t cry, B. It’s okay. I was kidding about the compliments. You’re forgiven for everything. We’ll do a little research, and you’ll be up and talking to me in person in no time. I’ll even hold your hand for real. That’ll be better, won’t it?”

Blaine pulled his hand away from his face, and Kurt swallowed hard. He was pale. He still hadn’t caught his breath. “Blaine?”

“Kurt? Kurt, I-,” he had to pause to try to breathe, “I think- something-,” another pause. He was fading from sight. Not in pieces, the way he did when he was upset or nervous, but all at once, like someone was turning the color down on a television set. “Something’s-,” breath, “wrong.” 

“Blaine? What is it? What’s wrong?” Blaine’s lips were starting to turn just a little bit blue around the edges, even as he faded from sight. Kurt had never heard Blaine having trouble breathing. He started to panic as Blaine’s hazel eyes went wide, scared. They were just starting to get back to normal. Their version of normal. He’d just gotten Blaine back. He wasn’t going to lose him again. Not for anything. “Hey, honey, stay with me, okay? Come on, you can do it. You’re a ghost. Ghosts don’t need to breathe, right?” Ghosts didn’t need to breathe. But Blaine wasn’t a ghost. Kurt’s heart stopped in his chest. The nursing home. The ventilator. He tried to squeezed Blaine’s hand, but he couldn’t. He was holding empty air again. Kurt grabbed his keys and ran.


	18. A Pam Anderson Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we have a POV chapter again, this time from Blaine's mother. This entry is NOT chronological. This is a look into Pam's life since she's seen Kurt, set sometime during the time Kurt and Blaine spent apart. The cliffhanger will have to hang for another week!
> 
> Thank you everyone for the comments and kudos and for being so enthusiastic this story. Y'all are completely amazing. Hope you enjoy!

Pam Anderson opened the door to a silent house. She wasn’t expecting anything different. There was no radio on in the kitchen, no tune being plunked out on the piano just a half a beat off rhythm, no sound of footsteps running down the stairs to greet her. After nearly three years, she was finally used to the silence. She stepped into the house, closed the door behind her, and stood with her back against it for a long moment. She was used to this, too. Grief was a physical thing. A weight that made it hard to get out of bed in the morning, harder still to open the door and climb into her car to go to work. It was a force field that kept John out of their home for longer and longer periods of time. It dragged at her arm, tempted her to toss her bag right there on the wood floor of the entryway and go straight to bed. She took a deep breath, locked the door, and took a step. She unpacked her bag and tucked it into the coat closet for the next day. She arranged her paperwork into the file cabinet in the office. She walked into the kitchen and made herself a sandwich she wouldn’t taste. Three years. She was beginning to wonder if it would ever feel like less of a burden.

She ate her dinner and poured herself a glass of wine. Only a single glass. She was very good about that. She knew that there were too many grieving parents turning to a bottle of some kind at night. She moved to the living room and sat down, turning on the television with the sound off. Now that she’d become accustomed to the silence, she found she didn’t want to break it. 

Her eyes kept being drawn to the stairs, no matter how hard she tried to absorb herself in the drama on the screen. She finished her glass of wine, but she wasn’t tired. Eventually, she sighed, giving in to an urge that seemed to be arising less and less often, lately. 

The guest room was empty. There was a stack of boxes in the corner, a bare mattress on a box spring. It should be Blaine’s room. It would have been, before all of this. She’d given away most of the furniture, through the years. The mattress was the last holdout. She kept thinking she’d turn this into a proper guest room. Maybe paint it, maybe hang some art on the walls. Instead, it remained in limbo. She walked over to the smallest box, stacked on top of all the others. She lifted it down and carried it to the bed, sitting on the very edge. On the top, in her own plain, even writing, was written one word. Blaine.

She smiled as she pulled out the medal from a singing competition at school. First in his region. He’d missed out on state finals with a bad case of laryngitis. He’d been heartbroken when she’d told him he couldn’t go. And beyond excited at the chance to try again the next year. The dance had been a month before the first wave of competition. She turned the award over, ran her thumb gently over his name engraved on the back. 

Next was a little bust of Chopin. It had been his reward for a job well done at his second grade piano recital. She would never understand a music teacher who thought handing students a breakable paperweight was a good idea at that age. Of course, he’d dropped it the second they’d arrived home and it had ended up in two rather large pieces. He’d cried and cried, acting as though Chopin himself would rise from the dead just to scold him. John had been so patient, so gentle with him as they’d carefully worked together to glue it back together. It was still chipped, one tiny piece of porcelain they hadn’t been able to find in the wreckage. She ran her thumb over that little spot, that little catch. Flawed. Imperfect. She tucked it very carefully back into the box.

There was more, but she moved it aside quickly. She knew what she was looking for. She’d been thinking about it since the day that strange boy had come to her door. She’d bought the simple, silver frame the day before the dance. She hadn’t understood Blaine’s desire to go with another boy. She wasn’t entirely certain that she should support it. But she knew how much it had taken for him to try. He’d been so brave. The silver frame was engraved with a simple statement. ‘First Dance’. She picked it up and ran her fingers over the glass. Blaine, curly haired and beaming at her, Andrew looking shy, eyes on her son instead of the camera. He was grinning, too. It wasn’t love. Neither of them were old enough for that. Blaine was all boyish enthusiasm, Andrew was fond, happy. It was a sweet picture. An innocent picture. She held the frame close to her chest, like it might help the ache in her heart subside. It never did.

An hour later, she repacked the box. The picture frame remained with her.

 

She hadn’t been to the nursing home in three months. She’d been trying to see what life would be like, if she didn’t visit. If she were to move on. She knew the odds. Statistically, it was impossible for Blaine to wake up. There was still brain activity, but it wasn’t improving. Three years, and no improvement. If a patient didn’t wake from a vegetative state within a month, their chances weren’t good. After years? She’d had the conversations with the doctors. She knew the truth.

She said hello to Laura at the front desk before heading upstairs. The room was a little different. There were fresh flowers in the vase by his bed, as always, but something was off. They weren’t the sort the nurses typically brought, carnations and lilies. Instead, they were yellow roses. She looked around critically. The sheets were different. A light blue. She touched them, surprised by how smooth they were against her fingers. Maybe they’d changed suppliers. She sat in the guest chair and frowned a bit when she reached for Blaine. It was in a different position. Someone had been moving things around. She scooted the char over in a rather undignified way and held onto her son’s hand. It was soft in her own. They’d been taking better care of his skin, at least. Finally, her eyes settled on his face. His eyelashes against his cheeks, the scar. 

As always, she glanced around as though to make sure no one could hear. “You’d hate what they’ve done to your hair. You always hated it this short. And the scar would make you crazy. You were always so stubborn about gelling it down just so. Now it goes every which way.”

She tried to fix it, but it wouldn’t lay right, no matter what she did. Giving up, she watched the ventilator for a long moment. A hiss and a whoosh as Blaine’s chest moved steadily up and down. He couldn’t breathe without it. Still, after all this time. She swallowed hard, squeezing Blaine’s hand. “I like the new look. Blue’s never been my favorite color on you, but it’s certainly better than the orange they had last time. You look-“ She stopped, closed her eyes. She wasn’t going to lie. Not this time. She took a shaky breath. “I miss your eyes. You’ve always had the most beautiful eyes. I haven’t seen them in such a long time.” She glanced up at the ceiling, swallowing hard. She wasn’t going to break down in front of Blaine. Not even if he’d never know. 

“You used to play the piano constantly. Do you remember? You’d drive me insane playing the same section over and over and over again. Your father nearly went crazy, listening. He called it noise. He was wrong, though. You were learning. Every time you played, you were a little better.” She looked down at his fingers in her own, picturing them poised over the keys, his eyes closed, utterly focused. There was always a slight hesitation where the page turns had been, a little hitch in his perfect rhythm. Even once it was memorized, he would slow his tempo. He would drill that section until his hands were sure and steady, and the music flowed, even and perfect. His hands were thin, now. His knuckles stood out. She wondered if he missed it. If he could. “You’ve always been so good at picking things up. You’re fast. You’re smart. You dad always said you’d make a hell of a lawyer when you grew up.” She shook her head, smiling, eyes stinging a bit. “But I knew better. Even when you were small and all you wanted was to be just like him, you never wanted his job. You loved making people happy, Blaine. You’ve always loved making people happy.” She looked up at his face again. His cheekbones were too pronounced, his jawline too defined. He’d grown up. Her baby boy had grown up in a hospital bed. Her eyes moved over the IV bag, the feeding tube, the ventilator. “I just can’t help but wonder if we ever thought about what would make you happy.”

She let go of Blaine’s hand, taking a moment to dig in her purse. “I thought you might- Well, I know you won’t see it, but I thought you’d like to have it with you.” She pulled out the silver frame, setting it on his bedside table. The last picture she had of her son. The last one she ever would have. “You didn’t deserve this, honey. I may not agree with everything, but it never should've ended like this.” 

She blinked, and the tears fell. She didn’t stop them, this time. “I’ve asked you to stay with me a long time. I’ve been selfish. I wanted you here. I wanted you to wake up. But it’s been- It’s been a very long time. I know you’re tired. I know it hurts.” She brushed her fingertips lightly over the scar, then leaned down to kiss his forehead. “This isn’t making you happy. This has never been about you. For the first month, maybe. We hoped. We had so much hope that you were going to wake up and demand to go home. Or, knowing you, demand to go right back to school. But we’re past that, now. We both know it. This isn’t making you happy. And it’s not making me happy. You’re tired. You want to sleep.” She took his hand again and squeezed. “It’s time to rest, baby. I’m so proud of you for holding on for so long, but it’s okay. I’ll call your father home. We’ll come visit one more time. And then it’s time to go.”


	19. The End Is Only the Beginning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is the final chapter. You don't even want to know how many versions of this thing were written and re-written before I finally decided it was good enough.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's supported this from the beginning, and to those who joined us along the way. I wouldn't have made it through getting this done without all of you. I hope you've enjoyed reading as much as I've loved writing and interacting with all of y'all.
> 
> (And if you're just now reading now that it's out of the WIP list, I totally get it! Welcome to the angst party!)

Kurt broke every traffic law in existence on his way to Blaine. Speed limits became nothing more than a gentle suggestion; he barely saw the lights he sped through. Nothing mattered except the sight of Blaine turning slightly blue as he faded away. “If you can hear me, I’m coming. Just hold on for me, okay, Blaine? Don’t go into any bright lights or let yourself fade away or whatever other cliché you can think of. I am not giving up my mystery ghost boy, alright? I’m coming.” 

His breaks squealed as he took a corner without even glancing at the stop sign, and then he was in the parking lot. He may have landed in a marked spot. It didn’t matter. He flew past reception, ignoring the sound of Laura calling his name, trying to stop him. Who cared about visiting hours or limitations on how many visitors he could have? Nothing mattered but getting to Blaine. He took the stairs two at a time, only pausing for a split second in front of the door to Blaine’s room. Behind that door was one of the most important people in his life. Possibly dead or dying. Could he handle that again?

He was panting as he slowly opened the door, stepping through and taking in the room in front of him. He couldn’t seem to focus on Blaine, so he took in random details instead. A new frame sat on the bedside table. The sheets were a light pink. Not the color he’d asked Laura to order, he’d wanted something a bit deeper. Baby blanket pink wasn’t a good look. The ventilator was in the wrong place. The machine was pushed off to the side of the room. Still. Silent. All he could hear was the slow rasp of Blaine’s breathing. The ventilator was off. The lines and tubes gone. 

And then he saw Mrs. Anderson.

Her hair was pulled back into a sloppy bun, bobby pins showing through the strands, frizzy curls starting to escape around her face. She was sitting in Kurt’s usual chair, grip white-knuckled on her son’s hand. She was staring at Kurt like he was an alien, eyes wide, mascara streaks on her cheeks. He’d caught her in the middle of an intimate moment. She hadn’t been expecting an audience while she murdered her son.

Kurt took a half step further into the room. “You- You took it out. You had them- Why would you do that? He can’t-“ He looked at Blaine then, and wished he hadn’t. His chest expanding with every breath, but the motion was too slow. Each inhale sounded painful, a steady wheeze in his lungs. He was pale, even more so than usual. His lips were already starting to tinge blue around the edges. Without the ventilator tube in his mouth he looked even smaller. Vulnerable. “He can’t breathe.” He was amazed by how steady his voice sounded, given the situation. His eyes were locked on Blaine. He couldn’t have looked at Mrs. Anderson again if he’d tried. 

Her voice was a little shaky around the edges, but remarkably strong for someone who had clearly spent a decent amount of time crying. Apparently, homicide was hard on her. “You need to go. He’s not meant to have more than one visitor at a time. He needs to be with his family right now.”

Kurt’s eyes flashed, his hands shaking with an anger he didn’t quite understand. “You’re killing him. I don’t see why you should be the one to stay with him, family or not.”

Her voice was far more stable when she spoke again, as though Kurt’s anger had somehow strengthened her. He’d made a mistake. He knew that. He could practically hear the walls going back up in her voice. She was the one with all of the power, here. “You need to go. The nurses are likely already on their way. They’ll call security. There’s no need for us to make a scene.”

Kurt swallowed hard and took a deep breath. He forced his eyes away from Blaine and back to Mrs. Anderson’s. They were cold. Grey. Lifeless. She looked nearly as pale as her son. And just like that, Kurt’s shoulders sagged. The anger drained away, leaving a bitter hopelessness in his chest, instead. She’d made her choice. He didn’t understand it, but it hadn’t been easy for her. She was in as much pain as Blaine was. As Kurt was. He could feel his eyes stinging and looked away, down at the ground, feeling shame join the cacophony of emotions blaring in his head. “I’m sorry.” Now he was the one who sounded weak. He didn’t care anymore. His eyes wandered back to Blaine. “I know you aren’t- I know that’s not how you see it. I know that to you, he’s already gone. I-,” his voice cracked. He swallowed hard again, but the lump in his throat wasn’t going anywhere. “Please let me stay. Just long enough to say- to say goodbye.” 

She looked at him, expression unreadable. “You don’t even know him. You’re that boy I told to go to Dalton.”

Kurt nodded slowly. For a moment, he considered telling her everything. But he’d sound insane. Mrs. Anderson didn’t seem to be much of one for fairy tales. ‘I met your son as a ghost and I’m pretty sure he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. Please don’t kill him’ wouldn’t go over well. Instead, he took a deep, shaky breath. “I know this is probably going to seem silly. Maybe even insane. But Blaine is- he’s really important to me. I need to be here. I can’t explain it.” He looked up at her, met her eyes. “If you send me away, I’ll stay in the lobby until you let me see him. Days, weeks, I don’t care. And if it’s- if it’s too late, I won’t have the chance to tell him what I need to tell him.”

It shouldn’t have worked. But again, just like in the Anderson home, he saw that little spark of something different behind her eyes. Some kindness that all the tragedy of Blaine’s life hadn’t managed to burn away. She glanced from Kurt to her son and back. “He always helped people.” This time, her voice was soft, almost unguarded. “If you’d showed up at our home wanting his advice, he would have welcomed you without a second thought. If he were here right now, he’d be yelling at me to let you speak with him.” She looked up, jaw set as she met Kurt’s eyes again. “You have two minutes. Not a second longer.” She stood and took a few steps back from the bed. “And then I expect you to leave and not return. You can leave your contact information at the desk for the funeral.”

Kurt nodded, trying to feel gratitude even as his stomach dropped to his toes. Funeral. He’d be back in that graveyard with Blaine again. But this time, instead of grinning at him over his peacoat, he’d be lying in a casket, slowly being lowered into the ground. He stepped up and took her seat by the bed, taking Blaine’s cold hand in his own. He looked up at that too-pale skin, the long eyelashes against his cheeks, the way his chest seemed to hitch on every breath. 

No. He wasn’t going to let this happen. After everything they’d been through, Blaine wasn’t going to die like this, stuck in a hospital bed. They’d been through too much together for Kurt to lose him now. He squeezed Blaine’s hand gently and leaned in close so he could speak right into his ear. 

“This isn’t happening, Blaine,” he said quietly, firmly. “This is not how you die. I know you thought we had time, but we don’t. I wanted to let you do this at your own pace. I would’ve sat by your side reading you old copies of Vogue and making sure your skin was staying properly moisturized for years, if I’d needed to. But your mom had the ventilator taken out. You’re not- You’re not breathing right anymore, B. You have to wake up. And you have to do it right now.” 

No reaction. There was never any freaking reaction. He ran his fingers through Blaine’s hair, gently touching the scar on his head. That one little feature was the reason Blaine was dying. The reason they’d met. He licked his lips, taking a deep breath. He was terrified that if he said the wrong thing, he’d lose Blaine. But if he said nothing, he was going to lose him anyway. He had to try. “You don’t understand what you mean to me. What all of this has meant to me. Maybe I haven’t been totally honest.” He squeezed Blaine’s hand. “You’re my best friend. You passed Rachel ages ago, we both know that. But it’s more than that. Whenever I picture a future, you’re always there. I can’t imagine New York without seeing your eyes light up the first time you see Rockefeller Center decorated for Christmas. I can’t picture my first Broadway show without you there beside me, eyes as wide as dinner plates through the whole thing, going out for a stupidly rich dessert after so you can analyze every note in every song. I can’t picture working at Vogue without meeting you for coffee after and critiquing your choice of bowtie. I can’t imagine walking through Central Park without your hand in mine.” 

He’d been picturing it more and more in his head. Blaine’s expression the first time he walked into the Museum of Natural History. The goofy grin he knew he’d be wearing when he found a new hole-in-the-wall coffee shop for them to try. The way he’d tease Kurt good-naturedly as he dragged Blaine around to sample sales, but always manage to grab the one item Kurt just desperately needed for his wardrobe. The world he was building for himself wasn’t just his own anymore.

“You have to be there. Every step of the way. So you see? You can’t die. A world without you in it doesn’t even seem possible anymore.” And if it was possible, he didn’t want to be in it. 

He looked up, cupping Blaine’s cheek, and he let himself imagine how this conversation would have gone if things had been different. He could see the look on Blaine’s face if he’d been awake, listening. Bright, wide eyes, a flush on his cheeks, embarrassed and thrilled and maybe even a little scared. He’d be doing that thing, playing with his fingers the way he always did when he was nervous. He’d understand what Kurt was saying. He’d know. He’d meet Kurt’s eyes and hold them a little too long. The moment would linger, passing from friendly to something else. Something deeper and warmer and almost perfect. 

It was that moment he was picturing as he leaned in and gently pressed their lips together.

There weren’t fireworks. There couldn’t be when Blaine wasn’t really present. There was just a sense of completion, the feeling that he’d found something he hadn’t even known he’d been searching for. He felt something settle in his chest. His world shifted just a bit, and everything made more sense. This was right.

It lasted only a few seconds before Kurt felt strong fingers wrap around his bicep and yank him backward. He nearly tripped over the visitor’s chair as he was dragged toward the door. He turned to Mrs. Anderson, still half in a daze from everything that was happening, and froze when he caught her expression. The woman was terrifying.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Her words were clipped, harsh, betraying an anger that Kurt had only spotted glimpses of in the past. Now, she had a target. Kurt took a half a step back. Well, he tried to take a half a step back. He nearly pulled his arm out of its socket. The woman was tiny, but she was insanely strong. “I was allowing you to say goodbye to my son out of kindness. That’s what he would have wanted. And you take advantage of that?”

She started pulling him toward the door, toward security and nurses and a phone call to his father and a world without Blaine in it. “Mrs. Anderson, please,” he begged, trying to get out of her grip, return to Blaine’s side. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to take advantage, I just-“ There was no explanation he could give that would make this alright. She was never going to understand. He swallowed hard against tears, starting to panic. She was going to kick him out of the room and he’d never see Blaine again. Not until the funeral. Not until Kurt was buying another bouquet of red and yellow roses to place at the foot of a tombstone. “Please, you can’t- You can’t make me leave him, he has to wake up. You don’t understand, he’s not- he’s not braindead, he just needs help!”

She was ignoring him, not hearing him, hand reaching for the door. He could hear Laura talking to a deep-voiced stranger outside. Security. If she got that door open, Kurt would never be let back in the room. With a mighty wrench of his arm, he managed to break her grip. “Just listen to me! He just has to-“ His voice failed him as he looked to the bed. 

Time froze. The room and its other occupant faded away. Someone was shouting in his general direction. He couldn’t have possibly cared less. 

Blaine’s eyelashes fluttered. The heart monitor started to beep a little faster. They fluttered again, and he might have let out a quiet groan. A minute passed. His eyes opened. They closed. Another long minute stretched as Kurt’s heart stopped in his chest. He could hear the ticking of the clock, the harsh rasp of Blaine’s breathing. His eyes opened again, focusing on the ceiling. They closed. Thirty seconds. Opened. Found the bed and the baby pink sheets. Closed. Fifteen seconds. Walls, painted a particularly heinous green. Blinked. Kurt.

Blue eyes met hazel for the first time.

Kurt’s chest ached. The lump in his throat was back with a vengeance. 

Confusion. Fear. Pain. He watched them all flicker through Blaine’s eyes. He could practically see the question forming there. He didn’t know him. 

Kurt didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. He felt Mrs. Anderson’s fingers wrap around his bicep again and tug. And then the grip slackened. Her hand was gone. She must have seen. It didn’t matter, Blaine’s eyes were locked on Kurt’s.

Blaine’s brow furrowed. His lips twitched. His eyes narrowed like he was trying to place something, a word that was on the tip of his tongue, a memory that was just slightly out of place. And then, there it was. The hint of a smile. A spark.

Recognition. Hope.

Kurt’s heart started pounding in his chest. His head spun, his vision swam. His voice cracked as he said the only word that seemed to mean anything, anymore.

“Blaine.”

And then, a little miracle, so quiet he could barely hear it across the room. Raspy, broken, a voice that hadn’t been used in far too long. 

“Kurt.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there it is! Finally finished after multiple, multiple drafts. I'm still not sure it's perfect, but it is complete. 
> 
> There will be either a sequel or (at the very least) an epilogue to this story, depending on interest level and my own free time.
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and if you'd have any interest in spending more time in this universe. 
> 
> Thank you all again form making my first fic writing experience a truly amazing one. Cheers to our next adventure together!


End file.
